A Perfect Match
by ladywordsalot
Summary: Rachel Berry is a young tennis player who has just made the leap after spending a couple of years on the junior tour. Her only focus is to be the best female tennis player in the world, and win as many Grand Slams as she can. Love was the furthest thing from her mind. That doesn't mean it won't take her by surprise. (Slow building Faberry.)
1. Chapter 1

Rachel Berry couldn't believe it. She was in Australia!

The seventeen-year-old New Yorker had decided to take the plunge and turn professional on the back of a very successful 2011 season, where she'd made the semifinals of Wimbledon's Ladies Junior Singles, been a finalist at the US Open, and won the Orange Bowl Junior Championships. Rachel could have stayed a junior player till her eighteenth birthday, but after consulting with her two supportive fathers and brand new coach, the young athlete had decided it was time to start competing against the big girls. After all, she would need to beat them if she were to fulfil her lifelong ambition of winning as many Grand Slam titles as her freshly retired role model Serena Williams.

This wasn't Rachel's first trip to the land Down Under, and she had thoroughly enjoyed her last trip to Melbourne where she'd gained some valuable experience playing in the junior singles tournament at the Australian Open. The brunette wasn't overly happy when she lost in the third round, but as the United States Tennis Association's chief of Player Development William Schuester had pointed out, a good player learned how to take losses in their stride on their quest for excellence. Now, one year later, the USTA had decided to give Rachel Berry one of the wild cards afforded to them as a fellow Grand Slam host, and she was going to give it her best shot!

Rachel stepped out of the tournament provided car, and gazed up at the Rod Laver Arena. To her the sport wasn't just something she was good at, it was an actual passion. She knew it's history well, and as a result, knew a lot about the man Melbourne Park's crown jewel was named after. She had caught a fleeting glimpse of the legendary champion around the grounds last year, and was hoping she'd get to go one better and actually meet Rocket Rod this year. She could dream...

Rachel was shaken from her thoughts by the sound of a throat being cleared. She glanced beside her to her coach Shelby Corcoran, who was smiling down at her young protege. "If you're done staring, shall we?"

Rachel shrugged, but smiled as she slung the straps of her tennis kit around her shoulders. "It's easy for you not to be overawed. Your name's already engraved on the trophy."

Shelby had been a top player during her day, and had won the Australian Open Ladies Singles titles in 1986 and 1988, along with the US Open title in 1987. Tennis historians were of the agreement that she would have won many more majors if her career hadn't been cut short by a chronic right wrist injury, but the player herself had faced her struggles with injury with a sunny disposition. A few years ago Shelby had been recruited to work with some of the USTA's most promising young players, and she had agreed to coach Rachel full time after being on hand to watch the youngster win the Orange Bowl.

"Twice", Shelby winked and led the way to the player's registration area. Rachel let her coach do most of the talking as she continued to pinch herself to make sure this wasn't a dream. Rachel Berry had wanted to be a tennis player ever since she'd watched Martina Hingis and Steffi Graf battle it out for the French Open title in 1999. Rachel's fathers, both huge tennis enthusiasts and above-average casual players themselves, were delighted in the interest their only child was showing the match. In fact, a picture of a young Rachel Berry practically glued to the match on television had a place of pride on the mantlepiece in the Berry home. The next day her dad, Leroy, went out and bought Rachel her first Wilson tennis racket, and as it turned out, she was a natural. With great hand-eye coordination and an obviously good sense for the game, it was only a matter of time before Rachel's parents signed her up for tennis classes, and the rest is history. Leroy and Hiram didn't blink when their ten year old daughter asked to be homeschooled so she could concentrate more on tennis, and agreed to her request after speaking with her coach at the time, who didn't hesitate to mention that the USTA was already keeping an eye on Rachel's game. Seven years later, Rachel was ready to start repaying their faith in her by doing one thing - Winning tournaments.

The registration process passed in a blur, and year's later Rachel would only be able to remember signing her name where she needed to, smiling for the picture for her player's access card (which she didn't know would also be the photograph used to introduce her player statistics on television), and taking pictures of Shelby with tennis enthusiasts that recognised her as they left the building.

"Is Brittany hitting with us this morning?" Rachel asked her coach, as they made their way to Practice Court No. 9.

Shelby shook her head in the negative. "She's had to spend some more time on the massage table for her hamstring. I wouldn't stress too much. Your opening Doubles match isn't till the third day of the opening week, so you two will have plenty of time to practice together. In the meantime, we've lucked out because tournament officials have put you on with Dellacqua this morning. It's a good way for you to get used to how the courts will play against a big hitter."

Rachel nodded in agreement, and slowed down her pace as she noticed the crowd up ahead. People were craning their necks and climbing on to bleachers for a better look at whoever was on there. Camera bulbs were flashing, the collective sounds of the accompanying clicks audible even a few meters away. Shelby didn't need to tell her charge that there was a top ranked player on there.

Moments later, the loud voice of Sue Sylvester carried to Rachel's ears even before the brunette could see who was on the court. The multiple Grand Slam winning American tennis legend and current super coach was putting the world's top ranked female singles player through what seemed to be an intensive forehand drill. Quinn Fabray's skin glistened under the blazing Australian sun and sweat dripped down her forehead as she whacked ball after ball down the forehand line.

"Faster, faster! C'mon Fabray, move your legs! That's better. Precision is key. The thread must pass freely through the eye of the needle!". Sue looked up, and caught sight of Shelby as she and Rachel passed by. She nodded her head in acknowledgment of her fellow former player and now coach, before turning her attention back to Quinn.

Rachel watched Quinn pound a forehand down the line and immediately get back into position to hit another one. In the background sat Quinn's father Russell, his eyes following his daughter's every move. She watched the best player in the world hit another winner before turning her gaze forward on her journey to her own practice session.

'_There's much work to be done_' she thought, preparing herself for what lay ahead.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you to everyone that has taken the time to write me a review. Your words of encouragement, and also your criticisms and advice, are much appreciated. As some of you have asked, yes, I am a fan of the actual sport. I also understand that this might seem like an ambitious storyline to some, but I hope to do it justice. Feel free to keep nudging me in what you might think is the right direction, and I promise to take all suggestions on board.**

**Thank you for reading :)**

Rachel towelled her face dry as she stepped off the sunny court and into the artificially lit, and thankfully air-conditioned, corridor. She immediately set her kit bag down before unzipping one side and pulling out her cellphone. The brunette wasted no time in making a call, absentmindedly drying her once again sweaty face as she waited patiently for her call to be answered.

Rachel heard a click. "Sweetheart! We are so proud of you!"

The tennis player couldn't stop her face from breaking out into a blinding smile if she'd tried. "Thank you Daddy!"

She could hear her other father asking to be handed the phone, and grinned as she listened to the sounds of the phone changing hands. "You were excellent darling! Congratulations! Wait, your Daddy is being annoying..." There was a click, "There, now you're on loudspeaker."

Rachel laughed, "Thank you Daddy, Papa. And thank you for staying up to watch the game."

Hiram huffed, "As if we would miss our baby girl's Grand Slam debut. You were so good out there sweetheart. Rock solid. How are you feeling?"

A door at the other end of the corridor opened, and Rachel spotted Shelby making her way towards her. The two women made eye contact, and Shelby's face split into a grin that matched Rachel's. "I'm alright Daddy. Just happy I made it through. The crowd wasn't very welcoming at the start."

"That's to be expected when you're playing a local", Leroy piped up. "They seemed to like you by the end of it though."

Shelby reached Rachel, and wrapped her charge in a quick embrace before handing her a protein bar. Rachel rolled her eyes good-naturedly, but balanced her phone between her shoulder and ear as she unwrapped the bar. "That's true. They seemed to appreciate our play. I even got some very encouraging words when I was signing autographs at the end." She took a bite of the bar.

"Did you hear that Hiram? Our baby girl is signing autographs!" Rachel could hear the emotion in her Papa's voice, and once again found herself wishing they were in Melbourne to celebrate this momentous occasion with her.

Hiram also sounded choked up when he spoke, "I can't say this enough Rachel. We are so, _so_ proud of you."

Rachel found herself blinking away tears, "Thanks Daddy. I wouldn't be here without your endless support all these years." She finished the last of her protein bar, only to be handed a bottle of drink from Shelby, who mouthed '_Gotta stay hydrated_.'

"So, what do you do now?" asked Leroy.

"Um, I'm going to warm down, take a shower and go into my media interview before jumping onto the massage table for a bit. The heat out there was really sapping" she replied, taking a bit swig of the drink.

"Alright, well, your Daddy and I are going to call it a night. We'll call you before we leave for work in the morning. We love you sweetheart. Remember to stay hydrated!" Leroy said.

"Love you Rach!" Hiram added in the background.

Rachel smiled, "I love you too Daddy, Papa. Sweet dreams tonight."

Hiram smiled through the phone, "Oh don't worry darling, We're going to have wonderful dreams after that performance you just put on out there! Night night!". And with that, her father's hung up.

Shelby hugged Rachel again after the younger brunette put her phone away. "Congratulations Ms. Berry! You now have a one-zero record at the Slams."

Rachel grinned and high-fived her coach before they began to set off towards the locker room. The pair stopped moving when an Australian Open ground staff member trailing them called out to Rachel. "Ms. Berry? Could you please follow me this way? Everyone competing today is being asked to provide urine and blood samples for testing."

Rachel looked at her coach, who shrugged. Shelby spoke as they followed the staff member down the corridor, "It's not out of the ordinary for Grand Slam's to test all competitors on the first two or three days of competition. That way they've got samples from practically everyone that plays this level of tennis."

About an hour and a half later Rachel and Shelby walked out of her media interview and headed towards the tournament masseuse's room. Seven journalists, mostly American, had attended her press conference, and the number was quite frankly higher than what she had expected. The questions had almost all been tennis related, and the interview had barely taken fifteen minutes to be conducted. Shelby had sat quietly in the corner, observing Rachel with watchful eyes. Her only interaction with the press had been to shrug playfully when Rachel was asked whether her famous coach was a slavedriver in training.

Shelby asked how Rachel's body was feeling, and the two women were discussing Rachel's game that day as they walked into the masseuse's room. A loud cheer from the television in the room caught their attention, and Rachel looked up to see that the night session was about to begin on Rod Laver Arena. She smiled as her friend Brittany Pierce raised her hand in acknowledgment of the crowd's applause as she walked out onto the court. Moments later, the TV produced a deafening roar as the spectators rose as one to welcome the tournaments top seed, and Brittany's first round opponent, on to the court. Quinn Fabray looked all business as she entered the arena, her eyes determined even as she smiled at her legions of fans. The crowd continued to cheer as the World No. 1 made her way to her chair, and dropped her kit bag down.

"Brittany has an uphill battle if she's going to win tonight" Shelby commented.

Rachel nodded. Her British friend had really drawn the short end of the stick when the tournament draw was announced. In fact, Rachel had almost felt bad for having the good fortune of being matched up against the relatively unknown Australian Jarmila Gajdosova when Brittany's luck had clearly not done her any favours. That said, Brittany had accepted her fate with her usual sunny smile, and had spent hours on court training with Rachel and analysing videos of Quinn Fabray's play. As she said, if she was going to lose then she was going to go out fighting.

Rachel settled herself on the masseuse's table, her eyes never leaving the TV screen. This would be a good match.


	3. Chapter 3

**I'm updating this story quicker than I thought I would. When I get into a routine, I hope to update this story once a week. I know many people would like to see longer chapters, but this is the story and format that I have in mind. Some chapters might get longer, so I can tell the part of the story that I want to share in that particular chapter. **

**Once again, a big thank you to everyone that made the effort to leave me feedback. It is much appreciated. **

The tournament's media handler pointed out to a journalist.

"Ms. Berry-".

"Please, call me Rachel", the brunette said. "Ms. Berry sounds too formal."

"Rachel," the journalist continued, "how are you feeling?"

Rachel took a deep breath, "Disappointed, obviously. Everyone walks out to a match wanting to win it, but today wasn't to be my day. And Vika played a great match, so kudos to her."

"Do you think your lack of experience at certain key moments went against you?"

Rachel nodded, "It might have. I think I made the right calls, but Vika's been there and done that in those situations for so long that she might have been less nervous than me during the really crucial moments.

The tournament employee pointed out to another reporter.

"Jacob Israel, from the New York Times. First up, well done on reaching the third round on your Grand Slam debut. And my commiserations for losing a tough three set battle. Realistically though, were you expecting to be here? You did make it to the main draw through a wild card, after all, and this _is_ your first month on the ladies tour."

"Thank you Jacob," Rachel smiled, "And yes, without meaning to sound pompous, I thought getting to the third round was an achievable target after getting past the first round. I'd played against Tina Cohen-Chang on the junior circuit a few times before she moved up last year, and I knew I could win my second round if I stuck to my game plan."

"Speaking of your game plan, how does having Shelby Corcoran as your coach help with your strategy?" Jacob asked.

Rachel smiled at her coach, who was watching from a corner of the room. "Well, Shelby's probably my biggest off court asset. She brings with her years of experience, and a tactical knowledge that you only get from being in actual match situations. She's won multiple Slams, and knows what it takes to reach the pinnacle of the sport. So to answer your question, she's a great help when it comes to strategy and the mental aspect of tennis. We analyze my opponent's playing styles together, and she's always giving me insights on what weaknesses to look for in an opponent's game or demeanor."

"Such as?" Jacob prompted.

Rachel grinned, "That is a secret between Shelby and I."

The gathered media laughed, before another journalist piped up "Your opponent today has won two Australian Open titles in the past. Do you think Azarenka has a third title in her this year?"

"Vika is a real champion. She's been a top player for years now, and I think she would have won even more tournaments if she hadn't lost practically an entire year to injuries. But she seems to be in top form again… trust me, I could feel the power of those shots coming off her racket! So yeah, I don't see why she can't go the distance again this year."

"What about her grunting? Did it bother you?"

Rachel had been ready for this question, and answered honestly. "No. I just focused on the ball, and her grunts really just blended into the background. To be honest, I think they sound louder when you watch her on television. I think the TV mics somehow amplify the grunts and make them sound louder than they actually are."

"Carol Hummel, The Australian. What do you think of your fellow American Quinn Fabray's chances?"

Rachel pondered this a moment, "Well, I think Quinn is the automatic favourite anywhere she goes these days. I mean, she's just twenty-one, and has won every major except the French, so that's saying something. But look, I think women's tennis is in the best place it's been in for a while thanks to champions like Vika, Fabray, Lopez, Rose, Wozniaki, Bouchard. And then you have the younger lot like Pierce, Cohen-Chang and hopefully even myself, that are ready to knock on the door. Bottom line, there are no easy wins at this level. So while I wouldn't be surprised if Fabray wins another Aussie Open, I also wouldn't be surprised if someone else took the title."

Another journalist was selected. "Rachel, you and Brittany Pierce lost in the first round of the ladies doubles. What are your plans now? Do you go back to America?"

Rachel smiled, "No, I'm going to stick around for a couple of days and take in the sights and sounds of Melbourne before heading home to New York. Shelby promised me tickets to the Australian tour of The Book of Mormon if I made it to the third round, so I'm looking forward to seeing that. And maybe taking a drive down the Great Ocean Road. Melbourne is a wonderful city."

The same journalist asked, "And what do you plan to do on returning to America?"

The tennis player looked serious again, "More work on the court. And in the gym. I need to get stronger, physically, if I'm going to match the top ladies in baseline rallies. I'm happy with my serve and volley game, but there's always room for improvement. So yeah, I'll work on my game, my movement, and then try and get through qualifying at the American hard court tournaments. That's my immediate plan."

"What about the Fed Cup?" Jacob asked.

"Oh, I'd jump at the chance to represent the United States of America. I mean, wow, it would be such an honour. We already have a pretty strong squad with Fabray, Rose and Bells, but I'd grab any chance to be on the squad. Even if it meant I didn't actually play any games. There's a lot I could learn from just being on the squad. And Emma Pillsbury is doing a fabulous job as captain, so there's tons I could learn from her as well."

"A lot of people are calling you the next big American tennis star. Does that put any pressure on you?" Carol asked.

Rachel smiled, "If anything, it's a compliment. But I wouldn't get ahead of myself just yet. We know it isn't easy making the transition from the girls' tour to the ladies tour, so I'm just going to take it one step at a time. Like I said, I'm going to work on my game, try to get better, and try to win more. And hopefully fortune gives me the occasional helping hand too."

The journalist that asked the session's first question spoke up, "Will we see Rachel Berry back here next year?"

"Absolutely", Rachel replied. The look in her eyes dared anyone to question her self-confidence.

"And that wraps up our post-match interview. Thank you all for coming" the media handler spoke up. Rachel rose from her chair, and met Shelby at the door. The two women walked out the door together.

"You handle the press like you've been doing it all your life. It's quite impressive really" Shelby commented.

Rachel grinned, "That's what happens when you have a father that works in PR."

The player looked up, to see Santana Lopez walking towards her. It looked like the Spanish star was surrounded by a village, and everyone was trying to speak to her at once. Santana herself was ignoring them all as she made her way towards one of the interview rooms, drink bottle in hand. She locked gazes with Rachel, who was surprised when the big name tennis player stopped in front of her.

"Hi Shelby. It's good to see you again", Santana smiled, before turning her attention to Rachel. "Tough loss today Berry. But you did good out there. I'll be keeping an eye on you." And with that, Santana took off, her team once again hot on her trail.

Rachel was in shock, and couldn't seem to get her mouth to form the words 'thank' and 'you'. She came back to reality when she heard Shelby laugh beside her, and felt her coach tug her arm to get her to start walking again.

"The big girls have noticed you Rachel. It's a good sign" Shelby laughed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello everyone. As usual, a big thank you to everyone that is still reading this story, and an extra big gracias to all of you that wrote me a review or note of encouragement. I did receive some feedback saying that it would be better for me to write longer chapters and update less often, but I'm quite content with how I'm doing things now. If the story really is less enjoyable to people that dislike shorter chapters then might I suggest only reading the story once a month? That way you can catch up on a bigger chunk of the action when you read, if that is indeed what you prefer. **

**Regardless of whether you read this now or later when I have more chapters up, I hope you're still enjoying how the story is playing out! **

Rachel reached for a handful of popcorn, her eyes tracking the ball on the screen that was being smashed across a net by a quartet of players. After moments of no sound besides that of rackets connecting with the ball and shoes screeching to a stop on the DecoTurf court, the television erupted in a wave of cheers.

Patrick McEnroe's excited voice joined the commotion, "What a point by the USA! The Czech's had them on the back foot for most of that point, but Rose managed to pull that backhand winner out of thin air!"

Martina Navratilova's voice piped up, "The Czech's had that point under control till that beauty from Rose. Pressure on Melzer to get this serve right now."

Rachel realised that her hand had been hovering near her mouth while she watched the screen with bated breath, and quickly popped the popcorn into her mouth as things quietened down again. She reached her hand into the bowl again, but absentmindedly left it there when Melzer served a fault. The tall blonde player tossed the ball up, and hit a very tame serve at Stephens, who smashed a forehand winner down the line. The television erupted again.

Navratilova's voice rose against the noise, "That was a very poor serve by Melzer under pressure. It was begging to be hit for a winner, and Stephens was happy to oblige."

"And that brings up match point for the Americans! Listen to that crowd! Look, even Fabray is on her feet!" McEnroe exclaimed.

The cameras panned to Quinn Fabray, who was indeed on her feet along with the rest of the US squad. The blonde champion was pumping her closed fist, and shouting out words of encouragement to her teammates on court.

Rachel shouted out, "Match point!" Moments later her father's came scurrying into the room, and sat down beside Rachel on the couch.

All three Berry's watched as Melzer hit a cracking serve to Rose's backhand. The American nearly fell over as she stretched to retrieve the serve, but somehow managed to keep the ball in play. Both Czech players were at the net, and after a few back-and-forth volley's, Rose hit a perfect lob that landed just inside the baseline. Safarova chased after the ball, but was unable to return it on one bounce. Rose and Stephens dropped their rackets as they turned to embrace each other. Seconds later they were engulfed by the rest of the US Fed Cup squad, as the audience stood and applauded their effort.

"What a dominant win by the USA! And that too against the same Czech team that won the title last year! Wow!" McEnroe said.

"I couldn't agree more Pat. Questions were raised when Pillsbury picked Stephens for the last spot in the squad, but the selection was more than justified with this win" Navratilova agreed.

Chants of 'U-S-A. U-S-A' could be heard as the American players paraded their flag around the court. "Rose and Stephens were very impressive today, but don't forget Fabray and Bells' contribution to this rubber. Their singles wins were vital" McEnroe pointed out.

"Oh, for sure" Navratilova said. "The 2-0 lead meant that Stephens and Rose could play with relatively no pressure. All in all, I think Pillsbury will be very satisfied that the tie didn't need to go to a third day."

Hiram turned to Rachel, "They played well."

Rachel nodded, "Extremely."

Hiram studied her for a few seconds, before asking "You alright sweetie?"

Rachel smiled one of her blinding smile, "I'm great Daddy!" Hiram didn't look convinced, and moments later the brunette's smile dimmed, "Ok, so I'm a little bummed out at being on this side of the screen."

"Oh honey!" Leroy exclaimed, before wrapping an arm around his daughter, "It's ok to be disappointed. It just proves how much you want to be there. And I know that you will work tirelessly to achieve that goal."

Rachel nodded, "At least we won. I think I would have been more angry if they hadn't picked me and went on to lose."

"That's true. Country first!" Hiram smiled. Rachel returned his smile with a genuine one of her own. "When's the next round of Fed Cup?" her Daddy asked.

"April" she replied.

"Plenty of time for you to push for selection then" Hiram stated. "Maybe that's all the encouragement you need to do well in Indian Wells and Miami next month" he added.

Her Daddy's words echoed in her mind as Rachel made her way onto the Stadium Court in Indian Wells just over a month later. She raised her hand to acknowledge the cheers of the crowd that had come to the day session, glancing at her box as she did so. The brunette broke into a smile at the sight of her father's applauding alongside Shelby, the look of pride on their faces plain to see. Moments later, she heard the crowd once again applaud as her opponent's name was announced, and she knew that Kitty Wilde was on court.

Rachel had arrived in Indian Wells a week earlier, and had won her way through three rounds of qualifying to make it to the main draw. The final match had been a bit of a battle, but Rachel had dug deep and won against her higher ranked Serbian opponent. Rachel suspected that seeing Emma Pillsbury quietly observing the third set from the sidelines had given her that extra push she needed to find her best tennis.

That win had earned her a first round match against the ninth ranked Canadian. Kitty Wilde was a former number two who had made the finals of two Slams but had been unable to make that last breakthrough. Rachel and Shelby had spent hours analyzing video footage of her matches, and had come up with a game plan that would hopefully see Rachel through to round two. This would be the first time that Rachel was playing a current top ten player, and she was already relishing the opportunity.

The players met at the net for the toss, where it was determined that Kitty would serve first. They began their pre-match warm up, the tournament announcer introducing them to the crowd as they loosened up. Rachel was introduced first, and the half-full stadium gave their relatively unknown home grown player a rousing ovation. The cheers for Rachel were matched by the cheers for Kitty, with dozens of Canadian's making the trip to see the star.

Rachel made her way to her chair when the umpire announced that there were two minutes left for the match to commence. She hydrated herself, glancing back at her box as she did so. Her father's had surprised her by showing up the previous night, and Rachel was delighted to have them there. Having full-time jobs meant that they couldn't watch Rachel play as much as any of them would have liked, so it was always special when they were able to make it to one of her matches. And this was the biggest match of her career so far.

The players made their way to their ends of the court as the crowd fell silent. Kitty served a fault, and Rachel took a big step inside the baseline.

"Attack the second serve" she muttered under her breath. Rachel and Shelby had determined that the best way to get the vital break of serve was to attack Kitty's weaker second serve.

Kitty served again, and Rachel let rip with a cracking backhand crosscourt winner. The shot seemed to stun both Kitty and the crowd, who gasped before bursting into cheers. There was a skip in Rachel's step as she walked to the other side of the court to return.

Rachel and her coach knew they had the element of surprise on their side. For starters, Kitty had never played against Rachel before. But Rachel had also not played many tour level games, period. Which meant that she knew a lot more about Kitty's game than the higher ranked player knew about hers. Shelby had given Rachel clear instructions to bring her best game in the first hour, and keep mixing up her shots to avoid being predictable. Kitty was a player who liked to build an early lead, and Shelby believed Rachel could win the match if she didn't let the Canadian settle down and find her rhythm.

The advice proved spot on an hour and twenty minutes later, when Rachel hit a volley to win the match 6-3, 7-5. The crowd in Stadium Court had slowly built as word of a potential upset spread through the Indian Wells Tennis Garden, to the point where it was now an almost completely packed house. Rachel raised her hands in the air, and turned to grin at her box where Shelby, Hiram and Leroy were on their feet. Her Papa was being trigger happy with a DSLR, and Rachel knew there would be a new picture on the wall when she made it back to their home in New York. She quickly made her way to the net, where Kitty was waiting patiently.

"Well played" the Canadian star said, shaking Rachel's hand before heading to the umpire.

Rachel followed, shaking the umpire's hand when it was her turn. She then turned and looked back at her father's and Shelby, pumping her fist at them as she did. She sat down, letting the moment sink in before putting her stuff away. Everything had gone to plan today. Rachel's serve had not let her down, and she knew that she had won almost all of her net approaches. She knew Shelby wouldn't be too happy at some of the unforced errors she'd made on her forehand side, but her coach would be satisfied that she had made it through the round.

Fifteen minutes later Rachel was in the corridor that led to the Stadium Court, looking at the draw that had been put on the wall. The tennis player had been adamant that she didn't want to see the rest of the draw till she'd made it past the first round, and she took a deep breath as she looked at her next matchup that was prominently displayed on the wall.

Q. FABRAY

vs

R. BERRY


	5. Chapter 5

**Greetings everyone. Let me start by once again saying a heartfelt thank you to everyone that reviewed the story or dropped me a line since I last updated. It makes me happy to know that there are people who actually look forward to my story updates! And I'm pleased to know that genuine tennis fans appreciate that I'm trying to pay attention to detail and get my facts about the sport right. As some readers have pointed out, I use names of real tennis players every so often, and I hope you don't mind that I bend their ages and career trajectories to suit my story. Let's just call it creative liberty.**

**Without much further ado, here's the next chapter. I look forward to my next lot of reviews :)**

'So this is what prime time looks like' Rachel thought, lobbing another ball high for her opponent to easily smash back to her end of the court. People were still making their way to their seats, chatting to one another as they navigated their way across the brightly lit Stadium Court. The smell of food, the flashing of cameras and the sound of people's voices filled the air. Rachel glanced at her box as she lobbed another ball high, and spotted her Papa taking a big bite out of a hot dog. Beside him her Daddy saw her looking their way, and smiled at his daughter. The brunette briefly wondered where Shelby had disappeared to, before turning her attention back to the other side of the court, where Quinn Fabray had stepped closer to the net so that Rachel could now have the opportunity to practice her overhead smashes.

The younger player took a few steps back, indicating that she was ready. Quinn sent the first lob her way, gently bouncing in place as she waited for Rachel to hit the ball. Rachel looked up, momentarily distracted by the brightness of the floodlights before she sent a clean smash back to Quinn. They continued the back and forth for a minute or so before the umpire announced that play would begin in one minute. Rachel hit one more smash, then nodded to her opponent before making her way to her seat.

Rachel was taking a swig from her drink bottle when she spotted Shelby. Her coach was standing next to Quinn's box, talking to Sue Sylvester. The two women shared a laugh before parting ways. Shelby glanced at Rachel as she made her way back to her charge's fathers, and mouthed a quick 'C'mon' that was accompanied by a fist pump when she realised that Rachel was looking at her. The corners of the brunette's lips turned up in a smile, and she took another sip of her drink. She looked back at Quinn's box, her heart picking up speed when she realised that Emma Pillsbury had taken a seat between Sue and Quinn's father, Russell Fabray. Rachel turned her head, curious to see what her opponent was doing. The blonde was staring straight ahead, her eyes seemingly focused on a faraway spot that wasn't visible to anyone in the actual arena.

"Time", said the chair umpire.

Rachel rose and walked to her end of the court, crossing paths with Quinn as she did. A ball kid bounced a ball her way, Rachel nodding her head at him till she was holding three balls in her palm. She tossed one ball back to the boy, tucked the second into the compression shorts under her dress and turned to serve the first ball of the match. She showed Quinn the ball in her hand, and received the briefest of nods in acknowledgment. Rachel bounced the ball, taking a deep breath before tossing it up in the air and sending a flat serve down the T. Quinn chipped a backhand back her way, which Rachel returned with an aggressive forehand that she followed to the net. Quinn just managed to get her forehand to the ball, and Rachel easily put away her weak return. The audience applauded her play as she made her way back to the service line.

The umpire waited for the applause to die down, before stating "Fifteen, love."

Rachel bounced the ball, discreetly changing her grip to an Eastern backhand grip as she did. The brunette sent a top spin serve to Quinn's backhand, pleased when her opponent read the serve wrong and hit her return into the net.

The brunette wiped the sweat off her brow with her wristband, watching Quinn ready herself to receive on the other side of the court. The world's top-ranked player looked unfazed at having lost the first two points of the match, and bounced up to return the kick serve that Rachel sent her way next. Her forehand came rushing down the line, and Rachel barely had a second to respond before the ball had zoomed past her.

The audience roared at the shot, and the umpire waited for the noise to die down before stating, "Thirty, fifteen."

A breeze passed through Stadium Court as Rachel bounced the ball. The brunette barely noticed the slight goosebumps on her throwing arm as she tossed the ball air, but couldn't miss the satisfaction that coursed through her veins the minute her racket connected with the airborne ball. She noticed with some glee that Quinn wasn't expecting the wide ace that zipped past her at 107 mph. The blonde looked up at Rachel, and the brunette could swear she saw the slightest hint of surprise in her eyes before she crossed over to receive the next serve.

"Forty, fifteen", said the umpire.

Rachel opted to send Quinn a slice serve this time, and a brief rally later she found herself volleying a backhand winner across the court.

"Game, Berry. Berry leads one game to love" the umpire said.

Rachel took a quick sip of her drink before starting to cross to the other side of the court. She realised that Quinn was also about to cross over, and before she could stop to think about it, Quinn had halted in her tracks to let Rachel pass. The brunette muttered a quick thank you to the blonde, and passed her towel to the ball kid on this end of the court before getting in position to return serve.

Rachel and Shelby had once again spent hours preparing for this match, and knew that Quinn Fabray's serve was one of her biggest strengths. It wasn't the fastest serve in the world, but it wasn't close to being the slowest either. Quinn's excellent service placement helped make it one of the best known weapons in women's tennis today, and her second serve wasn't anything to laugh at either. The statistics sheet that Shelby and Rachel had studied the previous night showed that Quinn Fabray had won eighty-nine percent of her service games last year. If that wasn't an intimidating statistic, nothing was.

Rachel tried not to think about how good Quinn's service game was as the blonde tossed the ball in the air. She would have to wait to receive her first serve from the top-seed though, because the blonde caught the ball in her hand again.

"Sorry", Quinn called out.

Rachel nodded her head, crouching down again as Quinn bounced the ball. 'I guess I'm not the only one bothered by the wind' she thought, as Quinn tossed the ball in the air. The next thing she knew, the ball had zoomed down the T and past her backhand side.

"Fifteen, love", said the umpire.

Rachel tried not to let her awe at the serve show as she glanced at serve speed. '114 mph', Rachel thought incredulously, 'My reflexes are going to need to be switched on tonight.'

Forty minutes later, the score was locked at six games all. Neither woman had relinquished her serve, although Quinn had had three break point opportunities. Rachel had fought each one off with good, solid shots, refusing to play defensive tennis even when her back was against the wall. The brunette had even won over the crowd with her never-say-die attitude, and the Indian Wells audience was now equally vocal in it's support for both American's.

Rachel won the first point of the tiebreaker, and watched as Quinn selected a ball to serve with. So far the brunette hadn't been able to crack the Fabray serve, and the best she'd done was to get to thirty-all in Quinn's fifth service game, aided by Quinn's one and only double fault of the night. Rachel knew she would have to change that if she wanted to win this set and then this match, but she found herself wondering how she was supposed to do that when Quinn smashed another ace past her. Rachel sent a frustrated look to her box, only to be met with Shelby's determined face nodding vigorously back at her. The brunette knew what that meant. She was doing the right thing and needed to stay focused and positive.

The two women continued to hold their serves, till Rachel served at four-all in the tiebreaker. The brunette sent a flat serve down the T, and was convinced she had served a winner till she heard the linesman call it out. Rachel immediately raised her hand to challenge the call, but as the screen showed moments later, her serve was wide by a distance of two millimetres. The audience laughed out loud in disbelief, gasping as one before the umpire requested them to quieten down as Rachel prepared to send Quinn her second serve. The brunette realised that Quinn was standing inside the baseline for this one, and sent a wide kick serve to the other side of the court. Quinn whacked a service return that caught the tape on the net, and fell traitorously on Rachel's side of the court. The audience's groan matched the exasperated sound in Rachel's head and Quinn lifted her hand in apology, but that didn't change the fact that the blonde now had the mini break. Two points later, Rachel sipped her drink as she stared at the scoreboard, lamenting how tennis really was a game of millimetres and net cords.

Rachel's frustration at losing the first set followed her into the start of the second, where her lack of focus proved to be her undoing in the first game. Three poor serves and a perfectly placed drop shot from Quinn led to the first service break of the match. Rachel mentally berated herself at the change of ends, and told herself to snap out of it. The advice to herself worked and Rachel lifted her game from then on, but as it turned out, the one break of serve was enough for Quinn to win the set 6-4.

The two players met at the net after the match, and Quinn shook Rachel's hand with a firm grip. "Well played Rachel", Quinn said.

"You too. Obviously" Rachel replied, with a self-depracating smile.

Quinn gave her a kind smile in return, "I expect I'll be seeing a lot more of you on tour. Good luck." And with that, the two women parted ways.

In the days to come Rachel would realise that there was much to be proud of in how she'd played that night. She would understand that she needed to control her emotions better, that she couldn't dwell on points that had already been played and she definitely couldn't let errors in her game fog her focus, judgment and clarity of thought. She would learn all that and more. But as Rachel stepped off the court and into the corridor, it was easy to ignore the appreciative applause of the crowd as her shoulder's slumped with disappointment.


	6. Chapter 6

**Hello readers. My apologies to anyone that's been waiting for an update to this story. It has only taken this long because I have been on holiday for the past three weeks, and was too busy exploring the world to find the time to sit down and write. I'm still on holiday, but should be back to updating on a weekly basis from the end of this month. I also hope to get a couple of extra chapters done soon, to make up for the two week's worth of updates that I should have had ready and uploaded by now. Again, thank you to everyone that dropped me a review, or favourited me or my story. It is all much appreciated, and quite good for my ego. **

**Happy reading :) **

Rachel didn't like waiting. But she knew that she had only herself to blame for her current predicament. The brunette had easily made it past the first round of qualifying at the Miami Open before her main draw dreams were dashed by one Brittany S. Pierce. Sure, the match had been a close one, and at one point Rachel had even been a mere four points away from winning it, but that didn't make the player feel any better after the loss.

Rachel was currently in the players' lounge, an unopened book sitting in her lap. The usually voracious reader had tried reading a few pages of Dan Brown's latest thriller, but gave up when she realized that she'd read the same line at least half a dozen times without getting anywhere. Shelby was seated on the lazy boy across her, watching what appeared to be another ridiculous reality dating show.

The voices in her own head were getting to Rachel, mocking her for putting herself in this position by not making it to the final rounds of qualifying, which were currently being played across the grounds. Rachel decided to break the silence, "Did you have to do much of this when you were starting out?"

Shelby looked at her charge, "By 'this' I assume you mean waiting around, hoping to grab one of the lucky loser spots?"

When Rachel nodded, she shrugged, "I think I did it about five times. Just the one time in the players lounge, FYI. Sitting in here, watching the clock tick and praying for a tournament official to walk your way with a smile is pure torture." She gave the younger woman a pointed look before continuing, "I made it into the main draw twice. I was fortunate to get a few wild cards at the start of my career, which made things easier."

"What was the tour like back in your day?" Rachel asked.

Shelby looked away from the TV screen again, "Less friendly than it is today."

Rachel rolled her eyes, and Shelby laughed at the look of disbelief on the young woman's face. "It's true, players today are much warmer towards one another. Everyone might not be BFF's, but at the very least there's a mutual respect. Back in my day a lot of people were influenced by the Peter Graf doctrine of treating your opponents like your enemies. That sort of mentality might have molded Sue Sylvester into the legend that she went on to become, but believe me, she didn't have any friends on tour until much later in her career."

Rachel was now genuinely curious, "What changed?"

Shelby looked thoughtful, "I think a lot of us realized that we were seeing more of each other than our own families. A lot of us stayed at the same hotels, so we even saw one another at meals. You traveled on the same planes, sometimes trained together, waited out rain delays together, played against each other multiple times a year and, I don't know…we formed real friendships. Younger players coming up the ranks saw that most of us got along well, and that attitude of treating your opponents with respect and making meaningful relationships continued on well after we'd retired."

"What about Sue?" Rachel asked.

"Like I said, Sue made friends towards the end of her career. She was still a dominant force in tennis at the time, so it wasn't like losing made her humble or anything dramatic like that. I guess she realized it wasn't healthy to psyche yourself into believing that the person on the other side of the net was someone to be destroyed. I also know she genuinely began enjoying the sport more in the last few years, which probably made a world of a difference" Shelby said.

Rachel had read Sue Sylvester's autobiography, so she understood the context of what Shelby was saying. The Hall of Famer's family had migrated to the US from Italy when Sue was a toddler, and her domineering father had forced his daughter to take up the sport after spotting her obvious talent for it at the age of five. Sue's book plainly stated how she'd detested having to train for hours a day while other kids her age got to lead normal lives, and how she'd even considered retiring after winning a few Slams and making enough money to ensure that future generations of Sylvester's wouldn't have to work a day of their lives.

"Of course the ultimate irony is that Sue now manages a player whose father is amongst the least friendly on tour. You know that Fabray and Lopez went to the same tennis academy, and have been friends since their pre-teens, right?" When Rachel nodded, Shelby continued, "Well, Russell wanted Quinn to end that friendship when she graduated to the professional level. He didn't think his daughter would have the killer instinct if she was playing against a close friend, and told her she should sacrifice her friendship with Lopez for the sake of her career aspirations. It also didn't help that Lopez is very open about her sexuality, and Russell Fabray is a Bible-thumper that conveniently picks and chooses the parts of the Bible he wants to follow. There's a term for that…Cafeteria Christianity, or something like that. Anyway, I hear that he and Sue had quite the argument over who Quinn could and couldn't be friends with. Obviously Sue won that one" she finished.

By now, Rachel wasn't even thinking about the on-going qualifying matches anymore. Shelby had her full attention, as she stated, "If that's the case then I'm surprised Russell even hired Sue to train his daughter in the first place."

"And I was just as surprised that Sue took the job" Shelby replied. "I'd heard rumours of the Fabray camp negotiating with Sue at the end of Quinn's first year on tour, and know first-hand that Sue didn't want to take the job after her first meeting with Russell and Quinn. I think it was the USTA that set up the initial meet, despite the fact that neither the camp nor Sue were particularly keen on the partnership. But then Sue met Quinn on her own, which was followed by a one-on-one hit and training session, and the next thing I knew, they were a team."

"A successful team", Rachel pointed out.

Shelby nodded, "Sue has been good for Fabray. Apart from the actual tennis knowledge and coaching that she imparts, she's also instrumental in keeping Quinn sane and mentally ready to play when Russell gets overtly…difficult. I think Sue's experiences with her own father give her a unique understanding of Quinn's situation."

"Wow. Stories like that make me appreciate my father's even more than I already do" Rachel said.

Shelby laughed out loud, "As they should. Tennis players might be nicer to each other these days, but I look forward to the day when tennis is completely void of troublesome stage parents."

The two women sat in silence for a few moments, before Shelby spoke again, "To get back to what I think you were hinting at with your first question, no, this waiting isn't fun. And it's also not a good feeling, sitting around hoping that someone else drops out or pulls up injured just so you squeak into the draw. But that's the sport we play, and the sport we love. Yesterday Brittany beat you, tomorrow you'll beat her. It'll hurt to lose, and you'll feel bad beating your friends. But you have to want to win. Like, _really_ want to win. Otherwise this sport will chew you up and spit you out mangled and broken. It's difficult to explain how lonely a sport tennis can be, especially when you're getting your ass whooped in front of a few thousand people that are all supporting the person on the other end of the court. Out there it's just you, your desire to win, your ability to hold your nerves during crux points, your composure, your presence of mind. All you."

Rachel took a deep breath, and Shelby's expression softened as she continued, "Yes, it takes talent to be a champion of this sport, but more than that it takes more mental resilience than I can even put into words. And I honestly believe that you, Rachel Barbra Berry, have what it takes to make it to the pinnacle of this sport. We're not there yet, not by a long way. But I believe we'll get there if you continue to work as hard as you already do, and keep adapting and learning as quickly as you are at the moment. You have that thirst to win, to be the best, and that's half the battle won."

Rachel was touched at her mentor's words, "Thank you Shelby. That encouragement means a lot, coming from you. But", she hesitated, "do you think this sport will change who I am?"

Shelby opened her mouth to answer, but was interrupted by a gale force that entered the room and stopped across her.

"I'm in!" Brittany Pierce squealed, staring down at Rachel with a shit-eating grin. The blonde girl had obviously come straight from the tennis court, her playing shirt soaked with perspiration from running around under the blazing Miami sun. "I absolutely demolished Mehta, Rach!"

Rachel let out a squeal of her own as she jumped to her feet and wrapped her friend in a bear hug. "I'm so happy for you Brit!" The two women parted before she asked, "When's your first game?"

"I haven't checked the draw yet" Brittany shrugged. "I wanted to come tell you the news first, and see if you'd had any luck?"

Rachel shook her head, the smile never leaving her face "Nothing yet. But hey, it isn't the end of the world. I'm just glad one of us gets to play in the main draw. Yay!"

Brittany smiled, "Thanks Rach. Ok, I'm gonna go shower and check if they've released the draw. Lemme know if your situation changes, ok?" Rachel nodded, and Brittany turned to leave, "See ya later Rach. Bye Shelby."

Shelby waved at the departing girl, and smiled at Rachel as her charge sat back down, "I think that answers your question Rachel. The likelihood of tennis changing who you are is about as probable as me coming out of retirement."

"Please don't", Rachel laughed. "I would really hate having to kick your butt on the tennis court!"

Shelby mock glared at the giggling brunette, "Now, to take your mind off this exhausting and in all likelihood pointless wait, may I suggest you join me in watching what has to be the worst date ever?"

Rachel jokingly huffed, "Oh, alright. If I have to." She watched Shelby look back at her screen, before saying her coach's name again. When she was met with a questioning gaze, Rachel said "Thanks for sitting with me while I wait."

Shelby opted not to verbally respond, and simply waved Rachel's thanks away. "Now let me watch this date, goddammit" she joked, and the two women turned their attention to the screen where a nerd was about to undergo a physical transformation.

No words were exchanged for the next half hour, and the reality show was moments away from the big reveal when Rachel and Shelby were alerted to the sound of someone clearing their throat. Looking up, they were met with the sight of Sue Sylvester staring down at them, the amused glint in her eyes hard to miss.

"Sorry to disturb you from watching what is clearly quality television, but I was hoping we could all talk" Sue smirked.

Shelby smiled warmly at her friend, "Hi Sue. What can we do for you?"

"I hear the odds of a lucky loser spot opening up this week are pretty bad, but I was wondering if I could convince your charge, and you of course, to stay on a few extra days, maybe even the whole week. My charge's usual hitting partner seems to have caught a bug after trying some of this city's famed Cuban food, and I doubt he'll be able to drag himself away from the men's room long enough to be of any real use anytime soon" Sue said, her gaze alternating between Shelby and Rachel as she spoke.

Shelby looked at Rachel, allowing her to make the decision. A shocked-looking Rachel was staring up a Sue, "You want me to hit with Quinn Fabray?"

"Yes", Sue said.

Rachel looked at Shelby with a question in her eyes. The older brunette just shrugged her shoulders, letting Rachel know that she was okay with whatever the girl wanted. Rachel looked back at Sue, "What happens if I do manage to get into the draw?"

"The offer is still on the table, whether or not you're competing this week" the retired player said.

Rachel nodded her head, "Okay then. I'd love to hit with Fabray this week."

"What sort of schedule are you looking at?" Shelby asked.

"We hit for two hours in the morning or late afternoon on days when Q doesn't have any matches scheduled, and for forty-five minutes about two-and-a-half hours before the game on match days. What about Berry?" Sue replied.

"More or less the same. We can figure it out if Rachel gets a spot in the draw later today, or early tomorrow. Otherwise we'll work around Fabray's schedule on days that she isn't competing, and put in some extra yards ourselves on days when Fabray is playing", Shelby answered.

"Done" Sue smiled, "I'm off to book a court for practice tomorrow morning. We'll be on court at 7:30 am. I'll text you the court number when they tell me which one we're using. It'll probably be 4 or 5. Enjoy the rest of your evening ladies", and with that Sue took off.

Shelby turned to look at Rachel, who still seemed shocked at everything that had just transpired. "You might not get any real match play this week Rach, but I have a feeling that this will be just as good. Oh look, he looks completely different!"


	7. Chapter 7

**Time for an update everyone :) Thank you for the reviews and feedback. The last chapter now matches my first chapter for the most number of reviews, which is awesome. As a writer who's putting stuff out there, it's always nice when people take the time to say something. Now, let's keep this show moving!**

Rachel was sweating like it was going out of fashion. 'And Fabray isn't even here yet' she thought, lifting the medicine ball high above her head before tossing it back to Shelby, who was on the other side of the net. Rachel quickly side skipped to the deuce court, caught the ball again, and continued with the exercise.

Shelby had insisted on getting to the court at 6:45, wanting her charge to have a proper stretch and some strength training before Sue arrived with her own charge. As Shelby had reiterated to Rachel over dinner the previous night, it was imperative that they improve the young player's fitness, agility and power if she was to win consistently on the professional tour. The subject was something she had broached with the Berry's when they first began discussing the possibility of her agreeing to become Rachel's fulltime coach. Shelby had drilled in the importance of Rachel improving the physicality of her game to match, and hopefully even better, the levels of fitness displayed by her soon-to-be fellow elite athletes.

When Shelby signed the contract, one of the first things she did was go over Rachel's diet plan and her gym schedule. By the time pre-season training began, Rachel's eating habits had been drastically modified and she was sweating it out in gym under the watchful eye of a Strength and Conditioning Coordinator who had spent a large chunk of the last decade working for the Yankees. Shelby took over for Sheldon Beiste when Rachel was on the road, and probably worked her young charge even harder than the well-known trainer. Rachel wasn't complaining, in fact, she was happy to fall asleep exhausted night after night in exchange for the muscle definition she had begun to develop.

Shelby was going to make the most of the unexpected chance to train with the World No. 1. Starting with teaching Rachel that she would need to learn how to tap into energy reserves she didn't even know she had to succeed in professional women's tennis.

So far there had been no lucky loser spots up for grabs, and it didn't look like there would be any withdrawals before the first round matches had been completed either. Everyone who had automatically qualified for the Miami Open seemed to be in fine form, except for Santana Lopez, who had withdrawn from her third round match at Indian Wells and immediately announced that she was also skipping Miami to nurse a thigh strain. Last night at dinner Shelby had asked Rachel if she wanted to make the most of their current situation by combining a physically grueling week of training with a real test of her match play against Quinn Fabray. Rachel had said yes without a moment's hesitation, and Shelby had immediately rung Sue to discuss the possibility of their charge's playing a competitive set or two on days that Quinn didn't have matches. The other coach was happy to oblige, so all systems were officially a go.

Shelby checked her watch, "Ok, Fabray should be here in five minutes. Let's take a break."

Rachel walked to her chair, feeling surprisingly energized despite having spent the last thirty minutes going full throttle. She was just finishing off a banana when Sue appeared at the little gate on the side of the court, followed by Quinn Fabray and a dark-haired man that Rachel didn't recognize.

'How many tracksuits does the woman own?' Rachel wondered, as Sue nodded at the brunette before walking up to exchange pleasantries with Shelby. Behind the tall blonde Quinn raised her hand to half-wave at Rachel as she made her way to the other chair on court.

The man placed the large bag he was carrying down beside the net before turning to Rachel with an outstretched hand, "Elliot Gilbert".

Rachel shook his hand, "Rachel Berry."

"Nice to meet you" Elliot smiled, before bending down and unzipping the bag. He pulled out a skipping rope, some light weights, resistance bands and an exercise ball, placed them all on the ground near the bag and stood back up. "Ready Quinn?" he asked, walking over to the blonde.

Rachel watched them start on some basic stretches while taking a large sip of water. A shadow fell across her chair, and she looked up to see Sue and Shelby both staring down at her.

"I need to warm up. Wanna have a quick hit?" Sue asked, and Rachel bounced up from her chair.

"Yes!" the brunette grinned, rising from her chair in a flash. Never in her wildest imagination had she ever thought that she'd get to be on the receiving end of a ball coming off the racket of Sue Sylvester. _THE_ Sue Sylvester. Wait till her dad's heard about this! She could hear Shelby chuckle as she hurried to her side of the court.

Rachel turned around to seed that Quinn and Elliot had moved away from the actual playing area to make room for Sue. They continued with their stretching as the coach questioned, "Start at the service line?" Rachel nodded, taking a few steps closer the net. "Don't use too much backswing yet", Sue instructed.

Sue sent the first ball her way, and the two started an easy back and forth hit. The young player hid her surprise when Sue started to apply wristy topspin on some shots, and even threw in some cleverly disguised spins of her own.

A few minutes in Sue asked Rachel to take three steps back, and did the same on her side of the court. They were now midway between the baseline and the service line, so Sue instructed, "Use a little bit of backswing. Try to land your returns on the service line."

They started to hit again, Rachel doing a happy dance inside her head every time she managed to land a return squarely on the service line. This time Sue and Rachel were even throwing in some backspin, and the young player was relishing the challenge. She marveled at Sue's fine touch, which seemed to be on song despite her having retired just over a decade-and-a-half ago.

Sue caught the ball in her hand, "Alright, baseline. Try not to make the poor old lady run."

Rachel walked backwards, and noticed Quinn grinning at her coach in her peripheral vision. The top ranked star shook her head and turned her attention back to Elliot as Sue sent a ball Rachel's way. Neither player was using a lot of force, but Rachel noticed that Sue was slowly starting to move her around the court. The young player did her best to send every ball back to an area that Sue could reach in one step.

A minute or so later Rachel realized that Sue was gradually hitting the ball harder, and as a result Rachel had less time to react and get back into a dominant position on court. Despite the non-stop pace, she couldn't help but admire the variety of shots coming off Sue's racket. The much-celebrated former player might not have the legs and stamina to compete on tour anymore, but Rachel reckoned she would give any current player a run for their money if tennis was won on the quality of shots alone.

Rachel's legs were beginning to burn when Sue caught the ball in her free hand and turned to Quinn, "Now, why can't you do what Berry just did?"

Quinn laughed, "Because someone has to keep you on your toes Sue."

"I'm too good to you Fabray" Sue deadpanned, gesturing to Rachel to come closer as she approached the net. "Not bad Berry. Take a break. We'll pick up where we left off when Quinn's done stretching", she said, heading towards Shelby, who had been leaning against the fence and quietly observing her charge hit with her contemporary.

Rachel was used to Shelby discussing her strengths and weaknesses with her during these breaks, so she wasn't quite sure what to do as she sat down sipping from her drink bottle. That was until she heard the other chair being dragged closer to her own, and saw Quinn sit down in it.

"We haven't really met. I'm Quinn", the blonde said.

"I know who you are. I'm Rachel", the brunette smiled back.

"I know who you are too. I mean, we did play each other just this month! It's still polite to properly introduce yourself" Quinn said, still smiling as she sipped her drink. "Thanks for doing this, by the way. My regular hitting partner has a disgusting stomach bug, and we weren't sure if we'd be able to find a replacement for Mike this week."

"No, thank _you_ for inviting me out for the hit. It's a great opportunity for me, getting to hit with you and Sue. As for, Mike, was it?" Rachel waited for Quinn's nod of confirmation, "I hope he feels better soon."

Quinn waved away the brunette's concern, rolling her eyes, "It's Mike. He's of Asian descent, and thinks his stomach is made of iron. The guy hadn't even been to the Far East till he started touring with me, and is more American than Obama. But hey, who's going to listen to the two blondes?" she finished, shaking her head.

Rachel laughed, causing the corners of Quinn's lips to lift as well. The blonde took another sip before continuing, "It's true. A couple of year's ago I was playing at the Thailand Open, and Mike decided to order a tom yum soup on our first night there. The waiter tried to warn him about the Thai chili jam in there, but Mike said he ate a lot of authentic Thai food in Cincinnati". Rachel's eyes were sparkling with amusement, and even Quinn was grinning now, "Needless to say, he learned very, very quickly that the tom yum soup in Ohio isn't that authentic. For the next forty-eight hours Mike looked for a restro-".

"Alright, that's enough chitchat" Sue's voice boomed out from her spot near the fence. "Less talking, more tennis."

"I can well imagine how that story ends" Rachel cringed, grabbing her racket and standing up. Quinn chuckled before picking up her own racket and heading to one side of the court. The brunette took a deep breath as she watched her walk away, the moment really sinking in for the first time. She was about to have her first practice session with the woman who was arguably the best player in the world right now, and a retired legend, _two retired legends_, of the game would be watching and mentoring. 'The God's really are kind sometimes' she thought, taking off towards the baseline.


	8. Chapter 8

**Hello! Sorry it's taken me a bit longer than expected to post an update. I hope you all know that while the intervals between chapter updates might differ, I am 100% committed to this story. As always, thank you to everyone that dropped me some feedback this week. I received some very good pointers from some reviewers, and was given ideas that I even hadn't considered till they were mentioned. I appreciate your time, words and advice. Now, onto Chapter 8!**

"Put some more topspin on those forehands Berry. That really throws Fabray off her game!" Santana shouted out, sauntering onto the court.

The crowd that was gathered to watch the world no. 1 having a hit laughed at the Latina's statement, some even clapping. Completely caught by surprise, Rachel glanced towards Santana and as a result failed to get to the return that Quinn sent her way moments later.

"What are you doing here, Santana?" Quinn asked, putting her free hand on her hip as she addressed the newcomer. The sound of camera clicks filled the air, and Rachel noticed that some people were even filming the interaction between the two top players.

Santana took her time answering, sauntering up to one of the empty chairs along the fence and taking a seat first. The woman clearly enjoyed the drama. "Here, at a tennis tournament? Gee, I don't know Q, what _would_ I be doing at a tennis tournament?" Her sarcasm drew more laughs, and Quinn rolled her eyes at her friend. "I'm here to watch you play Fabray. Resting an injury is mind-numbingly boring."

Sue, who was standing in a corner of the court behind Quinn, piped up, "Good to see the injury hasn't affected your mouth Santana. Fabray, let's keep this moving". She tossed Quinn a ball, and the blonde quickly got into position and served to Rachel.

It was a beautiful afternoon in Miami, and Quinn and Rachel were having a brief hit before the world's top player took to the court for the first match of the evening session. This was their third day of practicing together, and yesterday they'd even gymmed together for a couple of hours. Shelby was certain that Rachel's game had already benefitted from getting to play against the world's best player, and even the younger brunette could tell that her coach was telling the truth.

Quinn and Rachel had played actual sets during their first two practice sessions together, and the blonde had won both. On the bright side, she had won six games to one on the first day, and six games to three yesterday. Rachel had been secretly proud despite losing again on the second day, because she realized that her anticipation and shot making were markedly better in the space of twenty-four hours. Sue Sylvester had also been kind enough to talk to Rachel after each session, and had pinpointed precise weaknesses in the brunette's footwork, movement, and other elements of her game. The older woman's assessment's came with advice on how to get better, which Rachel was very grateful for.

Quinn always stuck around to hear Sue's analysis of Rachel's game, and didn't move away when it was time for the tennis legend to point out flaws in her own game. The blonde listened to her coach attentively, asking questions when she felt the need, clearly not minding that Rachel and Shelby were listening in. Rachel's coach had also pointed out some flaws in Quinn's game, and again, Quinn had been happy to take her suggestions on board. In fact, both days Quinn had asked Rachel if it was ok to go back on court for fifteen minutes to test out the advice both coaches had meted out to the pair of them.

Rachel had been pleasantly surprised to realize that all the articles she has read about Quinn over the past few years were not made up. Print journalist's had always stated that the world no. 1 was one of the most liked players on tour, and a part of Rachel had wondered whether the papers at least exaggerated their words of praise just because of the blonde's position in world tennis. Quinn was also famous for inviting up and coming players ranked between fifty and one hundred to her base in Miami for off-season boot camp's, and Rachel had even listened to their locker-room gushing to fellow players with a pinch of suspicion. From the looks of it though, Quinn really was a welcoming and encouraging contemporary.

In two days of practice sessions Quinn, and Sue, had made sure that Rachel spent time implementing the advice that Sue and Shelby had given the younger player that day. For instance, yesterday Rachel's backhand seemed to be the slightest bit off and she was missing marks by a couple of inches, so Sue had suggested a minor tweak on her backswing. The older woman then stood on Rachel's side of the court, giving running commentary on Rachel's shot making while Quinn patiently sent back returns to Rachel's backhand from her side of the court. Of course, Rachel had returned the favour when Quinn wanted to work on a shot, but to be honest, she was amazed at how she was being treated like an equal by both women.

Today Quinn was playing her first match of the tournament, after getting a first round bye. Her opponent was an unseeded Frenchwoman who had come into the main draw through qualifying, but it appeared that the blonde wasn't taking the match against Natalie Nastase for granted. Shelby told Rachel that Sue and Quinn had spent part of the last evening watching videos of the world no. 86, and today they had specifically asked Rachel to send as many low backhand slices to Quinn as she could.

Rachel noticed that Quinn seemed even more focused today, and knew it was because she was getting herself in the right headspace to compete. While the blonde was as courteous and friendly as usual, you could tell that she was hitting her shots with more purpose, and asking Sue more questions between play. Even Santana's clearly unexpected appearance didn't throw her off, and Quinn went right back to zoning in on the yellow ball that was flying between her and Rachel. To the Latina's credit, she had quit the chitchat and was now alternating between watching the two players having a hit and entertaining herself with her phone.

Around twenty minutes later Quinn hit a backhand passing shot that beat Rachel, and put her hand up to indicate that she was done. The two women had just met at the side of the net when a racket-bag carrying Brittany walked in through the little gate. She looked up at Rachel with one of her signature dazzling smiles, asking "Am I early?"

Rachel smiled back, "No Brit. Your timing's perfect."

The tall blonde approached Rachel's chair, and placed her bag down beside the brunettes. She waved hello at Shelby, who waved back, and Sue, who nodded her head at the newcomer before turning back to continue her conversation with her fellow coach.

"Ken's just gone to pick up a couple of my rackets that needed to be restrung" Brittany said, referring to her absentee coach. "He should be here any minute now." Rachel nodded, sipping from her drink bottle. Brittany turned to Quinn, "We didn't really get to talk after our match in Melbourne, so let me properly introduce myself. I'm Brittany Pierce. And I look forward to many more matches against you."

Quinn looked momentarily taken aback by the forward introduction, before shaking her head, smiling at the newcomer and reaching out her hand "I'm Quinn. And I look forward to more matches against you too. You gave me a real run for my money in Australia."

"Brittany and I will be having a practice session after I've had a hit with you" Rachel explained, and Quinn nodded.

The sound of a throat being cleared alerted their little group to another person joining their little party. "Hi, I'm Santana" the Latina said, reaching out to shake Brittany's hand.

Quinn now seemed practically shocked at the sight of her friend introducing herself to the tall blonde. She looked between Santana and Brittany for a moment, then said "Well San, you haven't met Rachel either, so let me-"

The Latina cut her off, "You're mistaken Q. I met Berry in Melbourne."

Quinn looked at Rachel for confirmation, which the brunette gave with a nod. "Okay then, that's settled. Well, I better get going to prepare for my match. It was nice to meet you Brittany. And thanks again Rachel. I hope to have another hit with you tomorrow" Quinn said, raising her hand and crossing her fingers. "You coming Lopez?" she asked, picking up her bag.

"Nah, you go get changed Q. I think I'll watch Berry and Brittany practice for a little bit before coming to find you", Santana replied.

Quinn looked surprised again, but didn't say anything. She thanked the trio when they wished her good luck for her match that night, and then took off towards the gate, where dozens of fans were waiting to get her autograph.

"I'm just going to stretch Rach, and we can start right after, ok?" Brittany asked.

"Sure Brit, just let me know when you're ready" Rachel smiled. The brunette was left standing with the Latina, not knowing exactly what to say. Santana seemed to be quite content watching Brittany stretch, but the silence got too much for Rachel after a few moments, so she asked "So… how's your thigh?"

The Latina shrugged, "I've started light exercises with no pain, but my physio still wants me to sit out Charleston. It's annoying, but I understand that my team doesn't want me to aggravate the injury again before it's healed properly."

Quinn turned to wave to the two women before security escorted her out the gate and through the crowds. Rachel and Santana waved back, and Sue went to follow after her charge. Shelby joined them, "Hi Santana. You're sticking around for a bit, are you?"

Santana nodded, "Yeah. It beats sitting at home."

"You must hate having to sit out a tournament that's being played in your backyard" Shelby noted.

"Oh yeah, it definitely sucks." Santana agreed. "But hey, there's always next year. And I'll be fit for the tournament in my other backyard in May."

"That's a good attitude to have" Shelby complimented, before turning her full attention to Rachel to discuss things she had noted during her charge's brief hit with Quinn. The Latina excused herself and went back to the chair that she was occupying when Rachel was practicing with Quinn.

Rachel glanced at the Latina as she chatted with her coach, marveling at the fact that the woman ranked number two in the world was sticking around to watch her have a hit with her friend and competitor. Even some of the crowd that had come to watch her hit with Quinn had stayed behind to watch her and Brittany, mainly because the famous Spaniard wasn't leaving. The shorter brunette watched curiously as Santana kept glancing up from her phone to watch Brittany stretch, quickly looking back down when the blonde glanced her way. And Rachel also noted how her blonde friend's stare would linger on the Latina when she thought no one was looking. You didn't need to be a rocket scientist to figure out that they were checking each other out. '_Let's see where this goes_' Rachel thought, inwardly smirking to herself as she continued listening to Shelby's pointers.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9 felt like it wanted to be written sooner than this weekend, so here it is. I've had some encouraging feedback this past week, and even managed to hit one hundred follows for this story. Woot woot! Thank you for your reviews everyone. I hope to hear back from a majority of you after this new chapter. **

**Just one thing before I hit the update button - I have received some feedback and private messages asking me whether this was a Faberry story since I haven't mentioned any attraction between the two just yet. The answer is yes, it is a Faberry story, but one that will build slowly. I don't believe that attraction has to be immediate or mutual, and am crafting my story in a manner that I think is realistic. I hope you, my readers, understand.**

**Happy reading :)**

Rachel wrapped a towel around her still damp hair, and settled down on top of the bed. She was freshly showered after a hardcore ninety-minute workout in the players-only gymnasium at Crandon Park, and had some time to kill before lunch.

The brunette reached for the day's copy of the Miami Herald that was lying on top of her pillow, and was half-surprised to see a mini collage of Quinn sitting beside Finn Hudson at what appeared to be a basketball game on the front page. Rachel quickly scanned the caption below the collage, which read '_Tennis star Quinn Fabray and her rumoured boyfriend, Dolphins star Finn Hudson, sit courtside at last night's Heat versus Hawks game. (Check pg. 8 for an exclusive interview with the top ranked player)._'

Rachel quickly flipped through to page eight, where she was met with the sight of Quinn waving to the crowd after her fourth round win at the Miami Open yesterday afternoon. The picture had clearly been picked on purpose, since it featured the Dolphins offensive guard in the background, cheering for Quinn alongside Russell and Sue. Rachel's eyes lingered on the picture for a couple of moments before she began to read the article.

_Quinn Lucy Fabray is the modern definition of a tennis champ – fit, focused and formidable. The World No. 1's almost unrivalled game and her movie star good looks have turned her into a global superstar, with over five million followers on Twitter alone. The Herald's Sangeeta Ankalikar sat down with the Miami-native for an exclusive one-on-one chat._

**_Sangeeta Ankalikar – Thank you for taking the time to talk to us at the Miami Herald._**

_Quinn Fabray – Oh, it's fine. I live to give interviews! (laughs)_

**_SA – Interview after interview. Isn't that the life of a modern tennis star, with matches squeezed in where possible?_**

_QF – (nodding) Pretty much. I mean, apart from post-match interviews there are media obligations when you travel to a new city for a tournament, and then photo op's and interviews that your sponsors set up … So yeah, it's a lot of talking._

**_SA – You're forgetting the talking you have to do on court when you win a tournament. Something that you've been doing a lot of over the last few years…_**

_QF – Yes, speeches. Where you invariably forget to mention someone. (laughs)_

**_SA – I'm surprised you haven't started writing your speeches in advance if that's the case._**

_QF – (shaking her head) No, that would be way too presumptuous. Believe me, there are no easy wins on tour. And I'm positive I'd stop winning immediately if I wrote speeches before stepping on court._

**_SA – Fair enough. So you say there are no easy wins. Is that because the level of play on the WTA tour has improved?_**

_QF – It's a lot of things really. Players are fitter now than they were even, say, ten years ago. We have specialists that tell us how to get the best out of our bodies, what exercises we should be doing, the ones we shouldn't be, what we can and cannot eat, ... The physicality of the sport has completely changed. And so has the equipment. I mean, look at the things Sue (Quinn's coach, Sue Sylvester) can do with a modern tennis racket. She started out winning tournaments with a wooden racket, and terrorized her opponents with the power on her shots. Even now, she gives me a run for my money during some of our practice sessions. So yes, the level of play has definitely improved, thanks largely to an improvement in all the supporting factors._

**_SA – Have you ever tried using a wooden racket?_**

_QF – (laughing) Yes. It wasn't pretty._

**_SA – Let's talk about rivalries on tour. Are there a lot of catfights behind closed doors?_**

_QF – Oh, no! I mean yes, there's the occasional locker room argument, but no, I personally haven't seen any catfights! Gosh, do people really think it's the Real Tennis Players of the WTA back there?_

**_SA – No, but you should pitch that idea. I can see networks lapping it up._**

_QF – (laughs) No thanks. _

**_SA – Your loss. Ok, so I believe you about the catfights. What about rivalries?_**

_QF – Rivalries are part and parcel of the game. And I think tennis would be boring without rivalries. Sampras-Agassi, Nadal-Federer, Pillsbury-Corcoran, these were healthy rivalries that defined generations of tennis._

**_SA – It seems like you and Lopez might be on your way to joining that legendary list of rivalries._**

_QF – (nodding) I hope we do. Santana and I have been competing against one another for almost a decade now, from back when we were juniors training at the same academy. Sometimes I think she knows my game better than I do, and vice versa. And that's part of what makes it such a challenge playing against her. She's also my best friend in the world, and I hope we get to play at least another ten years of high quality matches against each other before our times up._

**_SA – Yes, your friendship is quite intriguing. It's not often that elite sportsmen that compete against one another on a regular basis are such good friends._**

_QF – (shrugging) I don't see why they can't be. Truth be told, anyone could watch hours of footage of my matches and know my game as well as Santana does. Well, maybe not as well, since she knows me well enough to know what goes on inside my head too. But, you get my point. I like to think I'm friends with most players on tour._

**_SA – Well, your fellow players certainly seem to speak highly of you. You've even started to earn a reputation as a mentor of sorts to some up and comers._**

_QF – I remember watching Federer at his peak, spending time talking to players that had just transitioned to the ATP tour. I was still a junior at the time, but I remember listening to some of the guys that I knew gushing about how kind he was. And I think that stuck with me. If I can help someone, then why not? Tennis can be a tough sport, and most players that are starting out can't afford to travel with anyone and get lonely. A kind word from someone that they sort of look up to can go a long way in that kind of situation._

**_SA – Do you also help them with their game?_**

_QF – Sure, if someone wants advice on a shot then I'm happy to help. Or if they want to have a hit at a tournament and I can manage it, then yeah._

**_SA – And what happens if these players that you're helping, guiding, go on to beat you?_**

_QF – Then they were probably the better player on the day, and deserved to win._

The door to the hotel room opened, distracting Rachel from her reading. She looked up to see Brittany walking in, and dropping her racket bag by the door.

"Tough loss today Brit" Rachel said, giving her friend a sympathetic smile.

"Thanks Rach" Brittany said, smiling. "I'm really happy I made the quarters, so all in all, this has been a great week."

Her friend's positive attitude never failed to amaze Rachel, who said "It certainly has. You made us all very proud."

The brunette's compliment caused Brittany's smile to widen, "Damn straight! I'm going to shower. What are you reading? Anything good?"

Rachel shrugged, "There's an interview with Quinn. That's as far as I've gotten so far."

"Cool, save it for me, will ya? I'll read it when I get out. We're still on for lunch, right?" Brittany said, glancing behind her to look at Rachel as she walked to the bathroom.

"Yup, but remember that I have to be back at Crandon Park by four" Rachel nodded, and then went back to reading the article when she heard the bathroom door close behind Brittany.

**_SA – That's a very zen way of looking at things. Are you this zen when it comes to your love life?_**

_QF – I'm not dating Finn Hudson._

**_SA – Maybe that's not where I'm going with this line of thought._**

_QF – (laughs) Ok, then, I don't know if I'm this zen when it comes to my love life since I have none, and I'm still not dating Finn. Does that help?_

**_SA – The press seems to think you two are dating._**

_QF – Oh, then I must be! Gosh, how would I know anything about myself if the press didn't tell me?!_

Rachel couldn't help but laugh out loud as she read Quinn's answer. The brunette had picked up on the blonde's love for sarcasm during the time they'd spent together on court and in the gym, and thought that Quinn was genuinely funny. She could picture the blonde's deadpan expression looking back at the journalist, and imagined that the answer was followed with a saccharine smile.

**_SA – Alright, I'll take your word for it. Are you dating anyone at the moment?_**

_QF – Oh, there's plenty of love in my life. At the start of every game, in fact._

**_SA- So, no?_**

_QF – No._

**_SA – Ok. Finally, the Miami Open is being played right here, in your hometown. That must make it very special to you._**

_QF – Absolutely. I was a ball kid here a couple of times, and it was also the first tournament to give me a wildcard. A lot of my family and friends come out to see me play here, and I get to hang out with them before and after matches. I also get to live at home, which is such a luxury when you spend the greater part of the year living out of suitcases. And there's no support like the support you get from the crowd in your hometown. So it's always amazing to play here._

**_SA – Well, Quinn Fabray, thank you for your time, and good luck defending your title._**

_QF – Thanks Sangeeta._

_(Quinn Fabray continues the defense of her Miami Open crown tonight against World No. 9 Kitty Wilde at 7 p.m Eastern Standard Time)_

Rachel finished reading the article, and flipped to the newspapers sports section to read the rest of the Miami Herald's Miami Open coverage. She was mid-way through an article on Azarenka's fourth round match when there was a quick knock at the door, followed by Shelby walking in to the hotel room.

"Hi Rach, Brittany in?" Shelby asked, settling down onto one of the chairs in the room.

Rachel nodded, "She's taking a shower. Should be out any minute now."

"Ok" Shelby said, "Ken said he's managed to get them seats on a flight out tonight, so we went down to the hotel lobby to figure out her share for the hotel so far. Turns out-"

The older woman was interrupted when Brittany came out of the bathroom, clad in a bathrobe and towel-drying her hair.

"Oh, hey Shelby" the tall blonde smiled.

"Hi Brittany, well played out there. Your ranking will be at an all-time high next week" Shelby smiled back.

"Thanks" Brittany said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "What were you guys talking about?"

"I was just telling Rachel that Ken and I went down to the reception so we could split the bill for your stay so far; he's managed to get the two of you tickets to Charleston tonight. As it turns out, the Fabray camp has paid for your shared room, my room and all our food and other hospitality charges for the week" Shelby said.

Rachel sat up straight, "What? Why?"

"Well, I called Sue, and she said that it was the least they could do since you did them a solid by agreeing to be Quinn's hitting partner for the week" Shelby shrugged. Rachel looked stunned, so Shelby added in a softer tone, "It makes sense Rach. They would, and probably are, paying for her regular hitting partner's expenses. And they know how expensive it can be to travel with a coach when you haven't hit the top fifty yet." She turned to Brittany "So the only expenses you've had to pay for this week are Ken's room charges."

"Wow" Brittany said. She turned to Rachel, who still looked stunned at the Fabray camp's generosity. "Well, then lunch is on me and my quarterfinals takings! Who feels like sushi?"


	10. Chapter 10

**Hello everyone! Time for a new update, but first, a few quick notes.**

**\- Thank you again to everyone that left me feedback. Also, thank you to everyone that has favourited/followed either myself, the author, or the story. It's always an encouraging sign when people want to be notified of updates to your work. So, merci.**

**\- I know that actual tennis fans are a bit confused as to which real-life players are still active on the tour. Yes, Azarenka is still playing, but in my story, she's a veteran player. I didn't think it would be right (as a tennis fan) to say that Rachel and Quinn were beating the likes of Serena Williams and Maria Sharapova, so they're retired in my universe. As are the likes of Federer, Nadal and Djokovic. I apologise for the confusion, and will try to stick to made-up names and Glee characters for the majority of the story. I ask that you suspend disbelief and just go with the flow when necessary.**

**\- Again, yes, this is a Faberry story, but I want them to actually get to know one another before falling madly in love. Sort've like when people fall in love in real life, you know? I wish I could say I was sorry to everyone that prefers 'Wham, bam, thank you ma'am' love stories, but the truth is that I am having a great time writing A Perfect Match as I am. I hope you guys enjoy the ride too. I promise that it won't drag on unreasonably long.**

**And with that said, here's the update. Happy reading everyone :) **

Rachel walked out of the bathroom, her toilet kit in hand. She placed the little bag on the room's solitary table, and looked around as the sound of Quinn's voice filled the air, "Thank you. I wanna start by congratulating Marley."

Quinn was interrupted when the audience on TV broke into applause, and Rachel glanced up at the screen in time to see Marley Rose smile wryly at her vanquisher. It looked like everything that needed to be packed was packed, so Rachel sat down on her bed and gave the television her full attention. She watched as Quinn rested the glass trophy on her hip, and continued addressing her opponent when the applause subsided, "You've had a great week, and I'm sure we'll see great things from you over the rest of the season."

Here the blonde paused for another smattering of applause, before going on, "I also wanted to thank the sponsors, without whom this tournament wouldn't be possible. And all the tournament staff, from the linesmen to the management to the ball kids to the super men and women that come and clean up the stadiums long after the last match of the day has been played. Trust me, those seats you guys are sitting in were covered in gum and soda less than twenty-four hours ago." The crowd laughed and applauded again, and Rachel smiled at the screen.

"Um, to my team, who work with me every day and help make me the player I am, thank you. I couldn't think of a better group to travel the world with." More applause. "And finally, to you, the fans." Here the audience broke out into raucous applause, the sound of whistles and cheers coming loud and clear from the television speakers. "Thank you for your support over the past week-and-a-half. And for buying tickets to come see us play. I always tell people that there's no better audience than the crowd in my hometown, and I think you've helped me prove that again. So again, thank you. I can't wait to come back and defend my title in 2013."

Quinn walked away from the microphone, and hoisted her trophy over her head as the audience stood up and applauded. Marley Rose joined Quinn, and the two women posed for the photographers' flashing cameras. Moments later the telecast cut back to the studio, where Martina Navratilova and Lindsay Davenport were seated behind desks. Rachel changed the channel, and was randomly flipping through stations when there was a knock on the door, and Shelby walked in.

"Hey Rach" she smiled, "All packed?"

Rachel nodded, "Yeah, all except for things that I can only pack before we leave tomorrow morning."

Shelby sat down in the chair, "Sue just sent me a text, inviting you and me out to dinner with the Fabray team. It's to celebrate her win tonight. Did you want to go?"

The younger brunette shrugged, "Sure."

Which is how Rachel found herself following Shelby into Zuma at 7 p.m. Shelby told the hostess who they were, and the lady then led the pair to a private room where Quinn and her team were already seated. The blonde player looked up when she saw the newcomers, and rose to greet them.

"I'm glad you two could make it" she said, surprising Rachel when she leaned in to give the shorter woman a quick hug and a peck on the cheek. Quinn did the same to Shelby, before indicating to a couple of empty seats, "Please, take a seat."

Rachel and Shelby sat down, and Quinn introduced them to the rest of her party, "You already know Sue, Elliot and Santana. This is my usual hitting partner Mike, my massage therapist Mercedes, my physiotherapist Dave, my manager Roz, Blaine, who works at Nike, and my friend Finn." Rachel smiled and nodded at everyone as they were introduced, and they all smiled back. All except for Roz, who barely glanced up from her phone to nod at Rachel and Shelby. "Guys, this is the one and only Shelby Corcoran, who needs no introduction. And Rachel, who did me a huge favour this week."

"Did _us_ a huge favour" Mike spoke up, raising his glass towards Rachel.

"Saved your ass, you mean" Mercedes said, making everyone at the table to laugh at Mike's faux-sad expression.

"Now, now Mercedes, don't be mean!" Quinn mock chastised, "Just remember to keep all the chili away from Mike. And make sure the path to the restroom clear, just in case." The group laughed again, before Quinn turned her attention back to the newcomers, "What can I order you two to drink?"

Drinks were ordered, lemonade in Rachel's case, and the group indulged in generic small talk for a while. Quinn, her team and even Santana made it a point to include Rachel and Shelby into any conversations they were having as a group, and even Roz was nice, if a bit loud and pushy, when she finally put her phone away.

Soon people began having conversations amongst themselves, and Shelby and Sue rose to converse in one corner of the room. Rachel was feeling a little lost when she felt someone slide into the seat that her coach had just vacated.

"Berry" Santana acknowledged, locking her phone and taking a sip from her tall, colourful drink. "How's your lemonade?" the Latina asked.

"Lovely, thanks Santana. How's your drink?" Rachel replied.

The tanned girl shrugged, "Fruity. But it has alcohol, so I'm not complaining. So, you're seventeen right?" When Rachel nodded, she asked, "When do you turn eighteen?"

"June" Rachel answered, "the second."

"Ah, ok. What about your friend, Pierce?" Santana asked.

"Brittany turned eighteen in December" Rachel said, sipping her lemonade.

"Mmm, ok. You playing Charleston next week?" Santana asked, taking another sip of her drink.

"Yeah. The transition to clay should be…interesting" Rachel answered.

Santana smirked, "I hear ya." She sipped her drink, then added, "To be honest, the transition to clay is always a bit jarring. And I grew up on clay courts."

Rachel didn't feel the need to point out that clay was also Santana's best surface, with the Latina having won back-to-back French Open titles over the past two years, along with a handful of titles in the build up to the year's second Grand Slam. So the Latina's statement was followed by a lull in the conversation, which could be expected of two people that hardly knew one another. Santana finally broke it, "So, how's life on the tour so far?"

Rachel's response was immediate, "Exciting. I'm really enjoying it."

"Yeah?" Santana asked, "You don't mind the travel?"

Rachel shook her head, "No. I actually look forward to getting to see more of the world."

"That's a good attitude to have" Santana acknowledged. "Although the more you start winning, the less you see of the world during tournaments. There's no time. You'll see."

Rachel smiled, wondering if Santana realized that she'd just insinuated that she thought Rachel would be going deep into tournaments. The Latina raised her eyebrows at Rachel's expression, "What?"

Before Rachel could reply, Santana's phone started ringing, and the Latina excused herself to answer it. The brunette reached for her lemonade, and tuned in to the other conversations happening around her. Finn and Dave seemed to be having an animated conversation about one of Rachel's favourite books, so she couldn't help but listen in. "No, I'm telling you man, Robb Stark should end up on the throne" Finn was insisting. "The Starks are good folk, so it makes sense for the oldest one to become King."

Quinn put her arm on Finn's, and leaned over him to address Dave, "I should probably point out right now that Finn hasn't read the books" she said, patting his arm.

"Right, that makes sense" Dave said, and he and Quinn shared a secretive smile.

Rachel piped up, "You should. It's an excellent series. Barring book four, in my opinion."

Dave's eyes lit up, "I know, right? A Feast for Crows was _so_ tedious to get through! I kept giving up on it, and as it turned out, so was Quinn. So we made a pact to read it at the same time, and support one another through it."

Quinn nodded solemnly, "That's what friends are for Dave. I think the frustration of forcing myself to get through that book actually helped my tennis. I let my irritation out through my tennis, and won my first US Open title" she finished, smiling. The group laughed, before Quinn added, "I can't say that I'm looking forward to watching book four play out on screen when HBO gets to it though. It was bad enough having to read it."

"On the bright side, it'll probably be faster to watch it" Rachel pointed out.

"So, wait, shouldn't I just watch the season instead of reading the book?" Finn asked, appearing confused.

Quinn shook her head, "I wouldn't recommend it. The season's diverge from the actual books every-so-often, so you're better off reading the books if you want all the information."

The wait staff began walking in with their food as Rachel added, "Yeah, Quinn's right. The TV series is just the tip of the iceberg, so to speak. Personally it's the back stories that make the books so interesting to me."

Quinn reached for some sashimi with her chopsticks, "Yeah, I think so too. Did you know that George Martin references actual historical events for certain story lines? In fact, I was just reading that the Red-"

"Finn hasn't read the books, remember?" Rachel said, cutting the blonde off.

Quinn smiled, seemingly abashed, "My bad."

Rachel grinned, noticing the colour on Quinn's cheeks. "So", Finn piped up, "without spoiling it for me, who do you guys think should end up on the Iron Throne?"

Rachel looked thoughtful as she chewed her dinner, "Tyrion?"

"I can see why he'd make a good king, but you have to wonder whether someone better known as 'The Imp' would command the respect of his people" Dave pointed out. "I'm going with Arya."

"I agree" Quinn piped up, "About Tyrion, I mean. I think he'd make a great Hand of the King, but I'm putting my money on Littlefinger. I think he's conniving enough to end up on the throne. And George Martin can be more than morbid sometimes, so it wouldn't surprise me if he ended up putting an unpopular character on the throne."

"Wow, really?" Finn asked, picking up another piece of sushi. "What about the Khaleesi? I would have thought that the only person left that could tame a dragon would make a pretty awesome ruler."

Rachel, Quinn and Dave shared a look, before the physiotherapist spoke up, "Yeah man, you really need to read the books."

Quinn smiled, before adding, "Although I should point out that what the three of us are referring to is still just a fan theory."

Rachel nodded, "A conspiracy theory even. But wouldn't it be awesome if we were right?"

Quinn laughed, "Oh, it would be so epic!"

Santana had reentered the room, and sat down beside Quinn, "Great Quinn, you've found another person to discuss your crazy Game of Thrones theories with. Joy oh joy."

Quinn smacked her friend on the arm, "Shut it Santana. Don't pretend you don't like watching the show."

"I do like the show" Santana conceded, helping herself to some sushi, "I just don't obsess over it long after the credits have stopped rolling. And I don't try to stalk the author of the book at Comic Con."

"That was JK Rowling, Santana. The author of a completely different series!" Quinn protested.

"Oops" Santana deadpanned, "I totally know the difference."

The blonde rolled her eyes at her friend, not seeming too affronted, and Rachel smiled at the interaction. She couldn't believe she was at dinner, discussing a TV show with two of the world's best tennis players, and a top football star. Rachel would have laughed in the face of the person that had told her at the start of the year that this is where she would be in April. Sometimes reality really did exceed expectations.


	11. Chapter 11

**It's time for an update! Full disclosure - This update is slightly longer than usual because I won't be updating this coming week (traveling minus my laptop for a few days). Hopefully this update will see you through any possible withdrawals (who am I kidding?!). **

**Some of you have asked about Rachel's ranking, so this chapter should clear that up. And maybe give some of you a little insight on how layered the women's tour is.**

**As always, thank you to everyone that left me feedback, praise or wrote be a review. i have done my best to reply to each and everyone of you, and will continue to do so in the future.**

**Happy reading :) **

Rachel felt like she was walking on sunshine. Even now, she couldn't wipe the smile off her face as she sifted through some clothes at Bloomingdale's. The brunette had to remind herself to tone down her grin from time to time, since she figured it was best not to look like a deranged serial killer on the loose.

"Anything?" Hiram asked, walking up to her with a few items of clothing in his arms.

Rachel shook her head, before pointedly eyeing the clothes he was carrying, "Clearly you aren't having as much trouble."

Hiram winked, "It's not my fault that clothes tend to look so good on me."

Rachel rolled her eyes, but laughed when Leroy popped up behind her dad and stated, "Yes sweetheart, but let's not forget that we're here to buy Rachel a birthday present, shall we?"

Hiram huffed, "Whatever you say sweetheart. You can't blame me for keeping myself occupied while our daughter searches the land, sea and sky for a gift for herself."

Leroy chuckled, "Darling, Bloomingdale's big, but it isn't _that_ big."

Rachel looked on as her daddy turned and walked towards the change rooms, "Looks like you aren't doing too badly either, honey" he called back over his shoulder.

Leroy looked down at the bags he was carrying, before turning his gaze to his daughter and shrugging, "Well, your dad's right Rach. A man's got to stay busy while his daughter shops." His eyes crinkled as his laughter mingled with his daughter's, "Haven't you found anything you like yet?"

"I don't think I want clothes" Rachel said, shaking her head. "I mean, I already have plenty of outfits that I haven't had the chance to wear yet, and it makes no sense to buy more when I'll be traveling for the next six weeks."

"And I'm sure you'll be buying plenty more dresses to keep in mint condition while you're off traversing Europe" Leroy threw in.

Rachel smiled cheekily, "Perhaps."

"Alright, well, why don't we wait for your Daddy to finish in the change rooms, and then we can go wherever you want to look for a present" Leroy said. Rachel nodded. "In the meantime, how would you like to look at those rankings with me again?" Leroy asked, his eyes twinkling as he dangled his cell phone in front of her face. Rachel squealed, the shit eating grin back on her face.

The young tennis player had spent most of the month of April playing Future's tournaments across America, and her travels had proved to be more fruitful that she could have ever imagined. She had started off at the Family Circle Cup in Charleston, and the WTA Premier event had been exactly what she needed to get over the disappointment of not making it to the main draw in Miami. Rachel had made it to the round of sixteen before losing to Dani Devonne, the current World No. 14, and also managed to get plenty of practice on the green clay with Shelby and Brittany. She must have taken to the slow surface pretty fast, because she went on to win the Future's tournament at her next stop in Pelham. From there she went on to be a finalist in Dothan, and a semi-finalist in Charlottesville, making it a very satisfying and successful few weeks of tennis. And now she was looking at the biggest bonus of her golden run; her highest career-ranking till date.

"I still can't believe my baby girl is the 174th best female tennis player in the world" Leroy marveled, staring at the rankings on his phone.

His daughter couldn't believe it either.

The new rankings list had come out this morning, hours after Rachel had first checked the WTA website to see where she stood. Truth be told, the young brunette knew exactly where she would be, but she couldn't wait to _see_ it in writing. The first time she saw her name next to number 174 there was a tiny voice in her head telling her that her ranking would have been even higher if she'd gone on to win both Hardee's Pro Classic and the Boyd Tinsley Clay Court Classic, but she was quick to shut it down. Her inner nagging was replaced by Shelby's calm voice, telling her that the world would be putting immense pressure on her soon, and the last thing she needed to do was pile on more herself. The teenager knew that she had surpassed everyone's expectations, including her own, and she was determined to revel in what had been the most successful run of tennis she'd had till date. This was a moment to stop and smell the roses.

Now Rachel was back in New York with her father's, having taken her coach's advice to take a week off before flying to France to play another Future's tournament in Saint Gaudens. That would be Rachel's one and only tournament on red clay before she headed to Paris to try her hand at conquering Roland Garros. This time Rachel would have to do the hard yards and battle her way through qualifying to make it into the main draw of the French Open. The USTA had thought it would be unfair to give her wildcards to two back-to-back Grand Slams, despite her better-than-expected showing in Australia. The brunette didn't rue them their choice to award Jane Hayward with the wild card though, and knew that the girl who had opted to turn pro barely two months before she turned sixteen was definitely deserving of their generosity. Besides, Rachel was brimming with confidence after her strong showing on the green clay of her native country.

On the bright side, the decision makers at the American tennis body had been kind enough to give Rachel a free pass into the main draw at Wimbledon, for which she was supremely grateful. Rachel loved playing tennis, and was excited to actually be playing in Grand Slams. But she knew she'd be lying if she said that the All England Lawn Tennis Championship's weren't right up there in her mind, above the other three major's. Then again, which professional tennis player hadn't dreamed of holding the Venus Rosewater Dish? Last year Rachel had made it to the final four of the grass championship's junior's tournament, and she hoped to surpass that achievement at the sport's most elite level.

But that was still weeks away. Right now, it was time to celebrate being ranked no. 174.

Rachel and Leroy were broken from their quiet revelry when Hiram walked out of the change room with the clothes he'd decided to buy, and an hour later Rachel was the proud owner of a brand new Kindle Touch when the Berry's walked into Flip for dinner. The voracious reader had finally given in and bought the new gadget, having grudgingly accepted that carrying dozens of books around the world with her just wasn't a realistic option anymore. She promised herself that her new toy wouldn't stop her from buying actual hard covers of her most favourite books, to store in her beloved library at home here in New York.

"Are you sure two hundred dollars is enough?" Hiram asked, glancing over the top of his menu at his daughter.

"It's plenty, Daddy. Thank you" Rachel reassured her father. Her dad's hadn't thought the e-book reader was enough of a present for their daughter's eighteenth birthday, so they'd also bought her a two hundred dollar iTunes card that she could use to download material for her Kindle.

"I wish you weren't going to be so far away on your birthday Rach" Leroy said, reaching for Rachel's hand. "And I'm sorry we can't be there for your big day."

Rachel squeezed her father's hand, "It's really not a big deal, Papa. You've been there for every other birthday I've had.

"Which is what makes this even more horrible" lamented Leroy, the corners of his lips turning down.

It wasn't that Rachel's father's couldn't afford to fly to Paris for her birthday. The problem was that Leroy's PR company had a big launch to handle on the same day, and they had decided that it wouldn't be fair to him if Hiram got to go alone. Instead the Berry men would be joining Rachel in London in time for the Queen's Club Championships, and would stay with their daughter for the duration of her Wimbledon campaign.

Rachel wasn't lying when she said she didn't mind that they were missing her birthday. She knew that her father's loved her to the moon and back, and that was all that mattered to her. And truth be told, she was hoping to be more focused on the French Open than her birthday, which fell on the first weekend of the major. All she wanted for her eighteenth birthday was to still be alive in the tournament.

"How about you promise to be there, in person, for my twenty-first?" Rachel asked, hoping to calm her distressed father.

"You can bet your bottom dollar I'll be there sweetheart!" Leroy said, the passion visible in his eyes.

"Done. Now, shall we order?" Rachel asked, hoping to steer the conversation back into happy territory. She didn't want her father's to be unhappy on what was to be her last night in New York for quite a while. "The show starts in two hours."

The show being Wicked, one of Broadway's most successful musicals of all time, and Rachel's guilty pleasure. Growing up in New York, it was impossible not to be caught up in the world of arts and culture, and Rachel's father's had made it a point to expose their daughter to all the great things the various theatres in the Big Apple had to offer. She'd seen everything from The Phantom of the Opera to Spider-Man Turn Off The Dark, but it was the tale of Elphaba and Galinda that held a special place in Rachel's heart. She suspected it had a lot to do with the fact that The Wizard of Oz was one of her favourite movies of all time. Tonight would be the seventh time Rachel would walk into the Gershwin Theatre to watch the magic unfold, and she knew it wouldn't be the last.

The Berry's ordered their early dinners, all three of them opting to create their own burgers. Leroy and Hiram had wanted to take Rachel somewhere more fancy, but the tennis player has asked to eat at Flip. The way she saw it, she was going to eat plenty of, not to mention authentic, European cuisine over the next two months, so she wanted to spend her last night in the United States eating burgers and fries. Her dad's couldn't really argue with that argument, so there they were.

The trio was waiting for their meals to arrive when a shadow loomed over Rachel. Looking up, she was pleasantly surprised to be looking at the face of a smiling Finn Hudson.

"Finn Hudson?" Hiram exclaimed, incredulity evident in both his voice and expression. Leroy, who was sat beside his husband, mirrors Hiram's expression, but unlike his better half, Leroy seemed incapable of making an actual sound.

"Yeah, hi" the football star said, smiling kindly at the two gawking men before turning his attention back to their daughter.

"Rachel, right?" Finn asked. Now other diners had caught on to the fact that here was a major celebrity in their presence, and to Rachel it felt like everyone at Flip was staring at their table.

The brunette nodded, "Hi Finn. This is a…surprise".

Finn grinned, "I thought I recognized you from the other night in Miami."

Rachel considered standing up to be on level, sort of, with the football player, when she realized that some of their fellow diners were now taking pictures and videos of the Miami Dolphins player. So she made a quick decision, "Are you here to eat?" Finn nodded. "With other people?"

He shook his head, "I'm at Bloomingdale's for a brand endorsement thing for one of my sponsors. It starts in," he checked his watch, "thirty minutes, so I figured I would grab something to eat before. My manager's going to see me inside later."

"In that case, would you like to join u?" Rachel asked, glancing at her father's who were still staring wide eyed at the newcomer.

"Yeah actually, I think I'd like that" Finn smiled, and sat down next to Rachel when she moved to make room for him.

"So, Finn, these are my dad's" the brunette said, glaring at her father's and hoping they would stop embarrassing both themselves and her any minute now. Fortunately they seemed to catch her look, and brought themselves back from wonderland just in time. "This is my Daddy Hiram, and my Papa Leroy".

If Finn thought it was strange that she had two fathers then it definitely didn't show it. He shook hands with each man as the introductions were made, and didn't blink an eye when Leroy said "Enchanté", snatched his hand back and turned beet red, all in three seconds. A waiter showed up just as Hiram questioned aloud why his husband was suddenly speaking French, and Rachel was seriously considering kicking both grown men under the table while Finn ordered his meal.

When the order was placed, Finn turned to Rachel, "I would have thought that you would already be in Europe by now."

She shook her head, "No, I stayed back in America to play Future's tournaments." She didn't want to seem condescending, but she wasn't sure how much Finn actually knew about tennis, so she asked "Do you know what they are?"

Finn didn't seem the least bit offended by her question, "Yeah. I mean, Quinn used to play them too, right? Back in the day."

"Right" Rachel smiled, "she did. So yeah, it was go to Europe and try to make my way into the main draws at Premier events via qualifying, or get straight into the main draw at lower level tournaments back home. I picked the latter."

Finn nodded, "And?

The brunette grinned, "And it was the right decision. I had a good run."

At this point Leroy seemed to regain the ability to use his voice, "She had a great run! Which is why as of today she's reached a career high ranking of world no. 174!"

Rachel blushed dark rouge, but Finn again took no mind as he exclaimed, "That's fabulous! Congratulations Rachel!"

Their food arrived, giving Rachel a much needed moment to compose herself. "Thank you Finn", she smiled. There was a pause in conversation as everyone studied their own meals. "So, uh, how is Quinn?" Rachel asked, before taking a bite of her burger.

Finn paused with his own burger halfway to his mouth, "Good. She likes Europe."

"And Europe clearly likes her too. Didn't she just win the title in Stuggart?" Hiram asked.

"And win both her rubbers in the Fed Cup win over Italy?" Leroy added.

Finn nodded as he swallowed, "Oh yeah, she plays well on clay. But I actually meant that she likes Europe. As a place. Y'know, museums, history, and all that.

"Oh, I didn't know Fabray liked things like that" Hiram said, intrigued.

"Funny all your gossip magazines never mentioned that, hey Daddy?" Rachel said, sounding amused.

Finn laughed, "Oh yeah, she loves going to the museums, and looking at local architecture and all that. If I didn't know any better, I'd call her a nerd. Oh wait, I take that back. She is a nerd" he finished, fondly.

Everyone at the table laughed, before Leroy piped up, "So, how long have you two been dating for?"

"Papa!" Rachel exclaimed, mortified that her father would broach the subject with a very famous person that he barely knew. 'Hell,_ I_ barely know the guy' she thought.

Finn dismissed her chagrin, literally waving it away with his hand, "It's ok, Rachel. It's weird if I'm not asked that question at least once a day" he smiled. "Quinn and I aren't dating, Mr. Berry."

"Please, call me Leroy", the older man said.

'_That's_ what he focuses on?' Rachel wondered, still embarrassed.

"Well, Quinn and I aren't dating, Leroy" Finn stated again. "I mean, we used to, but that was a long time ago" he added, taking another bite of his food.

"You did?" Rachel asked, her curiosity getting the better of her. '_Great, now I've turned into my father_', she mentally berated herself.

The tall man seemed nonplussed, "Yup. When I was a wise old ten-year-old, and she was eight."

Rachel's father's actually aww-ed, causing Finn to chuckle, "Yeah, it didn't get too serious though. Shocking, I know." He took a sip of his soda, "She's my best friend though. Has been for a while now."

None of the Berry's seemed to know what they could contribute to that, so they opted to eat silently. Finn was happy to keep the conversation going, "We lost touch, a little bit, when she was away training in Spain for two years. But we picked up right where we'd left off when she came back. And she's one of the few people that really understands what my life is right like now."

If Rachel was being honest then it sounded like Finn still harboured some feelings for Quinn. But this time she was able to keep from prying too much. Fortunately, Finn changed the topic, "So, no. 174, huh? That's exciting. Will you be playing the French at all?"

Rachel nodded, "Yeah. I actually leave tomorrow to play another Future's event in France, and then I'll try to make it through qualifying at Roland Garros. Either way, I'll be playing doubles there with Brittany Pierce. She's British. English, actually."

Hiram stated, "That's right, you're only British at the Olympics", causing the group to chuckle.

Finn looked at his watch, "Whoa, I need to get going." He signaled for the waiter, who practically ran to their table to grab the credit card Finn was holding out to him. "Could you please ring up everyone's orders? All three Berry's protested as the waiter scurried off with the card in hand, but Finn argued back, "No, you were nice enough to let me sit with you. It's the least I could do." The Berry's continued to protest, but Rachel could see that her parents were thoroughly charmed.

The waiter returned with Finn's card, and the football player stood to leave, "It was good to see you again Rachel. And it was nice to meet you Mr. … Leroy and Hiram."

Leroy looked like he might start speaking French again, so Rachel quickly piped up, "Well, thank _you_ for lunch Finn. And it was lovely seeing you too."

Finn grinned down at the brunette, "I'm sure our paths will cross again." His phone started to ring, and he glanced down at the caller I.D, "Yeah, I really need to go. Good luck in Europe, Rachel. Bye!"

And with that, off he went. His path to the door was intercepted by autograph seekers, leading Rachel to believe that he'd definitely be late for whatever event he had to get to just a hundred meters away.

The young brunette turned back to her parents, who were watching Finn's escape. "C'mon father's, chop chop! Those burgers aren't going to eat themselves. And I don't want to be late for the show!" she pushed.

Leroy and Hiram looked away from the exit, and at each other. "That did really happen, right hon?" Hiram asked his better half.

"I'd say so. Either that, or these Portobello mushrooms are Portobello _mushrooms_" Leroy answered, before both men broke into what could only be described as a giggling fit.

Rachel watched them, shaking her head even as she smiled. This might be a day out to celebrate her eighteenth birthday, but it looked like it was her fathers that had gotten the best present they could ever imagine.


	12. Chapter 12

**Hello readers :) It's time to roll out Chapter 12, which I hope will be to your liking. The story is still building at the agonisingly slow pace at which I am choosing to proceed, but I hope the writing and general plot line is enough to keep you coming back. **

**Again, thank you to everyone that wrote me a few lines of feedback/inspiration. Your thoughts, comments, ideas and encouragement are much appreciated. Feel free to keep them coming after you've read this update. **

**Without much further ado, here you go :)**

Rachel peered up at the overcast sky from inside the safety of the silver Peugeot 4008, Benjamin Biolay's melancholy voice providing a perfect background score to the greyness of the world outside. The squeaking of the car's windscreen wipers accompanied his voice as the SUV slow progressed along the Avenue de la Porte d'Auteuil, drawing interested stares from the umbrella-toting and raincoat-wearing people on the street who had noticed the official Roland Garros emblem it bore, and correctly assumed that it was shuttling a player or tournament official to the year's second major.

"Play still hasn't resumed, obviously" Shelby stated, staring down at the mobile phone in her hands. "But the good news is, it looks like the rain should pass in about an hour."

Rachel 'hmm-ed' as the car turned into the specially marked road that led to the back of the clubhouse at Stade Roland Garros. The driver dropped the player and her coach off at the covered players' entrance, and acknowledged Rachel's thanks with a smile and a nod of his head before sitting back in the car and taking off again.

The duo entered the building, where they were greeted by a tournament official who explained in heavily accented French that Rachel's game, which was scheduled to be the second match on Court 1, would only take place after the match that was currently in progress ended. Given that said match was a men's third round fixture whose first set had only been decided after a long tiebreak, and that was currently tied at two-all in the second, Rachel had a feeling that she would be waiting for a couple of hours at the very least. The official then kindly pointed out that the Players' Lounge was fitted out with things to keep players and their teams entertained in times like these, the on-site Players' Salon was open if they felt like a haircut, blow-dry or mani-pedi, and the cafeteria offered a range of food choices catering to herbivores, carnivores, celiacs and vegans. Once again, the two brunettes said their thanks and continued forward.

"So, what _do_ you feel like doing?" Shelby asked, turning to her young charge.

Rachel considered her options for a moment, "Um, I think I'm just gonna head to the Players' Lounge and read, if that's alright. I might grab a bite when play resumes… well, that depends on when play resumes, but you know what I mean", she said, rolling her eyes at herself. "What about you?"

"I might go get a manicure", Shelby stated. "Did you want me to take your bags to the locker room before I do?"

Rachel shook her head, "Nah, I got it."

Shelby nodded, "Ok. If I'm not back by the time you're heading to the cafeteria then give me a call when you're on your way and I'll see you there." And with that, the coach took off in the direction of the salon.

Rachel walked into the Players' Lounge a quarter of an hour later, armed with her Kindle. As expected, the place was bustling. Players of all nationalities were gathered in the large room, some playing video games on the consoles hooked up to the many wall-mounted television sets, others curled up on bean bags, completely engrossed in books of varying languages, a few participating in what seemed to be a highly competitive game of pool and yet others sitting in small groups and chatting away.

Many of the men and women in the Players' Lounge looked up when Rachel entered the room, and for a moment she felt like a deer in headlights. Being relatively new to the tour, and having played only a handful of Premier-level tournaments in that period, the brunette knew very few people on tour. Despite the fact that everyone she had met so far had been nothing but polite, Rachel still felt like an outsider looking in on situations like the one she was in presently.

The gathered crowd looked away, some throwing smiles and nods Rachel's way before doing so, and the brunette breathed easy again. However, there was barely any room to sit by herself, and the young player still felt too shy to just go plop herself down next to someone else, so Rachel seriously began to consider joining Shelby at the salon. The idea left her head when her eyes connected with twinkling hazel ones that were connected to the face of Quinn Fabray. When the World No. 1 beckoned Rachel over, she didn't hesitate to walk to her.

"Rachel", Quinn said with a laugh, "quit looking like you've walked into the seventh circle of Dante's Inferno!"

The brunette blushed, and Quinn added in a kinder voice, "Would you like to sit with us?" When Rachel nodded, Quinn moved closer to the woman on her right, thereby making space for Rachel to join them on the couch. Once everyone was seated, Quinn made the introductions, "Rachel, this is Marley. Marley, Rachel."

"Pleased to meet you, Rachel", Marley said, reaching a hand out towards the shorter brunette.

Rachel shook the proffered hand, "Likewise."

Both Quinn and Marley were in their tennis kits with jackets on, but the difference was that while Quinn's skirt was covered in splotches of red clay, Marley's was pristine. Quinn must have been able to see her mind at work, because she stated, "I'm waiting for my match on Philipe Chatrier to resume after the rain delay, and Marley's game starts right after mine."

"Quinn's literally two points away from winning" Marley threw in, which to Rachel explained why she was dressed to go on court. "What time's your game?"

"It's the second match on Court 1" answered Rachel. "But I don't think it'll start for a while yet, seeing how the first set between Azimio and Goffin took close to ninety minutes, and they were still early in the second when it started to rain."

The two women sympathized with her, "Mmm, rain delays suck" Marley stated. "But they'll get easier to get through when you meet more people on tour" she smiled kindly.

"Don't think people haven't noticed you already though" Quinn smiled. "Your second rounder against Luiz was inspired. You made a clay-court specialist and one of the tournament favourites look like a cow on ice!" Beside her, Marley nodded her head vigorously.

Rachel couldn't help but grin at their enthusiasm, "Well, I did have a great training block in Miami a couple of months ago."

"Yeah, I am a great teacher" Quinn laughed back. "Seriously though, well done. Have you always been this good on clay?"

"I don't know?" Rachel answered, seeming to question herself. "I mean, I had a good run on the green clay back home last month, but I lost, badly, in the second round in Saint Gaudens. Believe me, _nothing_ was working for me in that match. Shelby and I came here straight after, and I've been putting in a lot of time on the practice courts. But even I was surprised by how well everything came together in that last match."

Almost as if to underline Quinn's praise, a medium-built but well-toned Asian woman stopped by the trio. "Hey Quinn, Marley." The two women returned the greeting, before she locked her gaze on Rachel, "Nice to finally meet you in person, Berry. You played well on Wednesday. Good job."

Rachel stuttered out her thanks, ecstatic that someone that she'd never actually met before, and who happened to be a top twenty player, was congratulating her. Lily Chan was the highest ranked Asian woman in the world at the moment, and Rachel's projected fourth round opponent if both of them got through their matches today.

As if reading Rachel's thoughts, Lily smirked, "I'll be waiting across the net in two days", and with that, she mock saluted the trio and trotted away.

"Mmm, well Rachel, if you figure out how you managed to tame the beast that is clay, maybe share some tips with me? Quinn has tried to help me, and failed" Marley stated, her tone self-deprecating.

Quinn lightly smacked her arm, "Quit it, Rose. You're still alive in the tournament."

"Just barely" Marley said, with a wry grin. She looked at Rachel, "I actually scraped by after winning less points than my opponent in the last match. Clay is still a mystery to me. Thankfully the grass court season will be here soon."

Rachel knew that the World No. 5 wasn't lying about her struggles on the red surface. She had watched Marley lose both her rubbers in the Fed Cup semis against Italy, and it was no secret that the US had only won because Quinn had won both her matches while Stephens and Bells had combined brilliantly to take the doubles. The US was set to play France in the finals at the end of the year, and it was common knowledge that the French would choose to play on clay when the time came to announce their pick for location and surface. Journalists were blatantly stating that Rose's odds of making the trip weren't favourable.

"On the bright side" Marley threw in cheerfully, "I've already bettered my second round loss at last year's French, so I won't be dropping any ranking points."

Quinn laughed out loud, "That's true. I need to make it to the semis. Defending points can get stressful. You'll see what I mean next year" she finished, aiming her words at Rachel.

The brunette was distracted when the telecast of the French Open (highlights from earlier in the week were playing during the rain delay) paused for a commercial break, and Santana Lopez's face took over the screen. Rachel watched her sell a sugar-laden cola that she highly doubted any professional tennis player would actually drink on a regular basis, and raised her eyebrows when the next commercial also featured the Spaniard, this time selling a ridiculously expensive Swiss watch.

"She's everywhere, isn't she?" Marley said, eyes on the television screen.

Rachel saw Quinn nod out of her peripheral vision, "Yup. That's what happens when you win two back-to-back titles. They love her here."

Santana's face was all over Paris – in newspapers, on the sides of buses, on every second billboard, on every second television commercial that played. You couldn't help but spot her everywhere you went. Rachel knew Quinn wasn't lying when she said the Parisians loved her. Santana had exploded onto the tennis world after winning the French Open on her first try, and as things stood, she enjoyed a 16-0 record at the tournament. She was already a legend in this city.

"It's still weird to see her smiling so much" Marley said, causing Quinn to bark out a laugh. "Seems more like a dark threat. But this watch, or else…"

"I'll make sure to tell her you think that" the blonde giggled, and Rachel couldn't help but smile at the amusement in her voice. "She'll love that" Quinn added, still chuckling.

The French Open telecast resumed, this time showing live footage of covered courts and tournament staff staring up at the sky, intercut with people in the stadiums starting to fold their umbrellas. Marley's phone buzzed, "That's my cue! Finish that game quickly Fabray, and don't dilly-dally with the on court interview" she said, rising. Quinn shook her head at the taller brunette, but didn't actually look put out. "Good luck Rachel. I'll see you around."

Quinn and Rachel wished Marley good luck for her own match, which received a "Thanks, I'll need it!" from the now standing woman, before she marched off in the direction of the women's locker rooms.

"So," the blonde said, moving to take over the spot Marley recently-vacated on the end of the leather couch, and twisting her body to face Rachel, "how have you been?"

"Good" Rachel smiled, "you?"

"Busy" Quinn answered honestly, "The buildup to the French Open is always a busy time with back-to-back tournaments. Plus there's even more press than usual, since sponsors want to take advantage of the fact that the tour is in Europe, where a lot of them actually have head offices."

"Rich people problems, then?" Rachel smirked, causing Quinn to look shocked for a second before her own face broke out into a grin.

"Cheeky" she said, waggling a finger at Rachel.

"I'm just kidding" Rachel clarified, although she knew Quinn hadn't taken her seriously. "Honestly, I wouldn't know about the press. My only sponsor at the moment is Babolat."

"But you wear Nike kits, right?" Quinn asked, her brow furrowed in memory.

Rachel nodded, "Yes, but that's sort've a blanket deal that Nike has with the USTA. Any youngsters that work with the USTA get Nike kits through their junior careers, and for the first year after turning professional."

"What happens in year two?" the blonde queried, looking interested.

Rachel shrugged, "You're on your own, unless you've managed to snag an independent deal. Weren't you with the USTA?"

"Nope, not with player development. My father thought it would be better for me to hone my skills away from the national body. So I trained at the McKinley Academy in Miami. And I was in Barcelona for two years, at the Vicario Club de Tennis" Quinn supplied. "My dad worked out a deal with Nike when I was fifteen. He renegotiated it three years ago" she added, as if suddenly remembering what had prompted the brief trip down memory lane.

"Interesting" Rachel said. "My fathers were considering going the same route, tennis wise. But then they met with reps from the USTA, who convinced them that I'd be in safe hands with them. And I trusted that my parents knew what was best for me."

"Fathers?" Quinn questioned. "Like, dad and step-dad?"

"Like Daddy and Papa" Rachel clarified, her expression and tone leaving no room for confusion.

Quinn nodded, "Finn mentioned having met you and your two dad's, and I wasn't sure he'd read the situation correctly. Clearly I need to give him more credit" she smiled.

Rachel knew she was referring to their happenstance meeting in New York the previous month. The brunette had been surprised, and secretly slightly thrilled, to see her picture in print the next morning. The tabloid section of her morning paper had carried a poor-quality picture of Finn dining with her family at Bloomingdales, the photograph undoubtedly having been taken from the cellphone of someone at Flip. A small blurb under the picture speculated about what the almighty Finn Hudson was doing dining with '_the up and coming tennis starlet Rachel Berry_', and had gone so far as to wonder what '_Finn's famous tennis star girlfriend feels about him fraternizing with a fellow competitor while the World No. 1 is away slogging it out at tournaments across Europe_'. The feeling of thrill had quickly left Rachel's body as she read the words, but on the up side, the number of people following her on Instagram had seemingly quadrupled in a matter of hours.

"Yeah, he charmed the socks off my fathers" Rachel said.

Television coverage showed that covers were starting to come off the courts, so the women weren't surprised when a tournament official interrupted them moments later to tell Quinn that play would resume in half an hour. The blonde thanked him, before turning to Rachel, "Duty calls. It was lovely to see you again Rachel. Good luck for the rest of the tournament."

"Good luck to you too Quinn. Go kick ass" she smiled.

Quinn rose, and it was only then that Rachel noticed that she had been sitting on what seemed to be a leather journal that she was now grasping in her right hand, "Have fun with whatever's on that Kindle."

And with that, away she went. Rachel watched her until she was out of sight, noticing other people in the room doing the same. You could sense the shift in the room as people stopped what they were doing to track the world's top tennis player, a position coveted by every single athlete gathered in the room. A few of them wished Quinn good luck as she strode towards the exit, and Rachel pictured her smiling softly as she thanked them and nodded her head.

With a straight back and her head held high, Quinn walked out of the room without a backwards glance.


	13. Chapter 13

**G'day everyone. I got some wonderful feedback for my last update, and again, I'm very grateful to everyone that took the time to write in. As everyone who writes me feedback will know, I do my best to reply to you, but that's not possible when people log in as Guest's. So I'd like to take a moment to thank the people that drop me a line or two as Guest's. Your reviews and suggestions are just as valuable as everyone else's :)**

**I'm glad that the majority of people seem to be enjoying the slow build up of the relationship, and I was very happy to receive feedback that indicated that my readers think I'm doing a good job of not getting redundant in my storytelling. I think it's important to keep a story progressing forwards, even if it is in little ways. Feel free to let me know if the story ever seems to stagnate, and I promise to take a long, hard look at it.**

**Also, for anyone who is wondering, this story will be written from Rachel's POV only. If you ask me, it makes it fun guessing what's going in Quinn's head!**

**And now, on to Chapter 13. I await your feedback. **

Rachel glanced across the net at her opponent who was deftly swirling her racket round and round in anticipation of the upcoming serve. The brunette took a deep breath before bouncing the ball, noticing how it was covered in speckles of red dirt. The air around her felt electric, her ear's picking up random shouts of encouragement and hushed conversations between spectators. The buzz in the air was exactly what one would expect to precede the fifth match point of a match that had already lasted nearly three hours.

The umpire spoke up, "Silence, s'il vous plait", and received the desired effect immediately. "Merci."

Rachel bounced the ball one last time, the sound of her own increased heartbeat thumping through her ears as she tossed it up. Ignoring the soreness in her serving arm, she moved upwards to meet the ball with her racket.

_Crack!_

_Four days ago…_

Rachel woke up to the sound of pounding on her door. Glancing at the alarm clock on her bedtime table, she rose groggily, wondering who could be outside her door at the crack of dawn. She looked through the peephole before actually opening the door.

Seconds later, she was ambushed by a tall blonde, who wrapped her up in a bear hug "Happy birthday Rach!"

The brunette's sleepy brain took a moment to get with the program, but when it did, all traces of sleep disappeared instantaneously. "Oh my God! It's my birthday!"

Brittany let her friend out of her embrace, "Of course it is dummy! Did you forget?"

Rachel shook her head, closing the door behind them as she moved back inside the room, "No. You know how excited I get about my birthdays! It just wasn't the first thought to cross my mind when I heard you banging on the door." She moved towards the coffee machine, "Cuppa?"

It was Brittany's turn to shake her head, "And you're not having one either. Get dressed, I'm taking you out to breakfast."

An hour later, the brunette found herself in heaven as she bit into a pain au chocolat. The croissant was so good that Rachel literally moaned after the first bite, which made her British friend giggle.

"That must be good, if it's got you making sex noises" she laughed, taking a bite of her own tarte crumble.

Under any other circumstances Rachel would have blushed at her friend's comment. But at that present moment she was trying to calculate just how much more time she'd have to spend on the treadmill if she were to order another croissant. Or two. Or a dozen.

Rachel and Brittany ate at an unhurried pace, chatting away as they savoured the excellent food and coffee. The brunette was surprised to realize that a few other customers seemed to recognize her, and almost died when two of them approached her for autographs and pictures. It really shouldn't have been such a surprise, seeing that the French Open drew tennis fans from all around the world to Paris. And Rachel's picture _was_ in the paper that very morning, thanks to her convincing third-round win the previous afternoon. The brunette had put on a clinical display to make it to the round of sixteen where, as promised, Lily Chan would be waiting across the net.

The brunette was scheduled to hit the practice court in the early evening to work out a strategy to defeat the Asian, which gave Brittany plenty of time to spoil her friend on her birthday. This was Rachel's first trip to Paris, since she'd skipped the tournament in her years as a junior in favour of spending her birthday with her dad's in New York.

Rachel hadn't spent much time taking in the sights and sounds of Paris just yet, devoting most of her energy towards training for the year's second major. She was keen to discover more of the city's famed charm though, which is why Brittany and her co-conspirators had decided to spend the morning wandering around the Louvre. She pulled out two 'Skip The Line Tour' tickets to the famous museum as Rachel was sipping on her second cup of coffee, and placed them on the table.

The shorter player squealed, "You didn't! Brit!"

Brittany held her hand up to stop her friend, "Breakfast is on me. The tour is on your dad's. Which reminds me, you're supposed to call them."

Rachel immediately pulled out her phone, and did the needful while Brittany excused herself to give her some privacy. The brunette was grateful for her friend's consideration when she felt her eyes water as soon as her dad's began singing her the birthday song, and told her how much they missed her. She sniffled while telling them that she loved them and missed them too, and her smile grew even more watery when Hiram and Leroy reiterated how proud they felt watching her play on the red clay.

The blonde reappeared just as Rachel hung up, and made no mention of her red nose as she silently handed her a tissue. Brittany had settled the check while Rachel chatted with her father's, so the twosome picked up their bags and walked out to catch a cab from Blé Sucré to the Louvre. Rachel had made the trip the previous week to see the historic monument from the outside, but felt her skin breakout into goose bumps when it hit her that she was actually walking _in_ to the Louvre. '_Trust Daddy and Papa to give me an excellent birthday present from more than three thousand miles away_', she thought happily while entering the Pyramide de Louvre.

Once inside the building, the pair met up with a small tour group. The tour guide asked if there was anything in particular anyone wanted to see at the museum, which reminded Rachel of an article she'd read that claimed it would take a person almost twenty-five full twenty-four hour days to see each of the objects at the Louvre. She silently promised herself that she'd see all of the museums thirty-five thousand objects before her tennis playing days were over.

Four hours later an excited Rachel walked back into her hotel room, knowing that she needed to take a nap before the car arrived to take her to Stade Roland Garros. The hotel staff downstairs had alerted her to a delivery that had arrived while she was away, so she wasn't surprised to see a bouquet of flowers from the French Tennis Federation sitting on the table in her room. As someone had already alerted Rachel, it was tradition for the organizers of the French Open to send flowers to all players celebrating career or life milestones during the fortnight of play at Roland Garros.

Rachel admired the arrangement of roses as she changed into her PJ's. She lay down, but try as she might, she couldn't force herself to fall asleep. How could she, when she had just seen the Mona Lisa? _The_ Mona Lisa! And the Venus de Milo. And Milon de Crotone. And Caravaggio's The Death of the Virgin. These were artworks that Rachel had only read about, had seen pictures of in books, magazines and even on tacky souvenir items. And now, she'd seen them in the flesh.

Rachel cracked an eye open, and looked at the alarm clock on her bedside table. She contemplated calling her father's, but knew they'd probably be at work by now. Her Papa did have that launch to look after today, the one that had prevented him and Hiram from coming to Paris to celebrate Rachel's eighteenth birthday with her. '_And Daddy will probably be busy with his morning patients_' she thought, closing her eyes and willing her body to fall asleep.

The brunette was finally drifting off when she was roused again by a rap on the door. Rising, she looked through the peephole, only to be met with the sight of flowers. Thrilled, Rachel opened the door and looked curiously at a delivery boy who was bearing a large bouquet.

"Rachel Berry?" he asked, his French accent warping the R's in her name, and making it sound quite exotic to the brunette's ears.

"Yes?" she asked, her eyes roaming over the large arrangement of lilies and gardenias.

"Signez ici" the boy said, thrusting an electronic signature capture machine at her.

Rachel signed and passed the machine back to the boy, who slipped it into his courier bag.

"Voulez-vous que je mette les fleurs dans votre chamber?" he asked. When Rachel didn't immediately respond, he pointed at the flowers and then into her room with a questioning look on his face.

"Ah, yes. Oui" Rachel said, finally getting what he meant. She reached for her bag as he put the floral arrangement down beside the flowers from the Fédération Française de Tennis, and slipped him a tip on his way out. "Merci", she thanked him before closing the door and walking to the flowers.

Rachel assumed that the bouquet had come from her father's, and was expecting to see their signatures on whatever card or letter was inside the envelope nestled between the flowers. Which is why her brow creased in confusion when she didn't recognize the slanting handwriting on the letter that came out of the envelope.

"Dear Rachel,

Happy birthday! Or as they say here, joyeux anniversaire!

I overheard you telling Santana about your birthday back in Miami, and know you turn 18 today. It's a big occasion, so I wanted to personally wish you a fantastic first year of adulthood. And many more after that!

Here's to the joys of being able to order yourself a stiff drink at any bar across the world (except for the handful of nations, including the good ol' USA, where you need to wait another three years to do that).

I hope you have a fantastic day.

Xox Quinn."

Rachel felt her heart rate pick up speed when she saw the name signed on the bottom of the letter. She looked at the bouquet in a whole new light, not needing a last name to know who had sent it. The brunette quickly read through the letter again, thinking that the elegant cursive handwriting seemed to fit Quinn's charming personality. To say that she was touched at the World No. 1's effort was an understatement. The brunette really wished she had Quinn's phone number or email address so she could thank her for the gesture. She didn't even know where in the city the blonde was staying, and paused a moment to ponder how Quinn knew where _she_ was staying.

'_I should ask her for her contact the next time I see her_', she thought, making a mental note to do so as she leaned down to smell the flowers.

_Five Hours Ago…_

As luck would have it, the next time Rachel saw Quinn, it was in the locker room right before her quarterfinal match. The blonde walked in with Sue and Mercedes in tow, her lips slightly turning up at the corners when she spotted Rachel and Shelby sitting on a couple of armchairs on the bottom level of the room. The two brunettes nodded back, also acknowledging waves from the two other women, and watched as the trio climbed the stairs to the actual lockers, where Quinn sat down on a bench and Mercedes immediately set about kneading the muscles of her right shoulder. Rachel didn't think it was a good time to go thank Quinn for her flowers.

An hour later, Rachel began the walk to the corridor that would then lead her onto the Philipe Chatrier arena. She glanced at the signatures on the walls around her, her eyes briefly resting on the marks left by some of her idols. She heard footsteps behind her, and knew her opponent was following her to the court. Rachel turned a corner and found herself face-to-face with a camera crew and a tournament official, who told the two women that the television crew would be filming their walk to the stadium. Rachel nodded, and briefly turned around to look at her opponent. Quinn didn't give any indication that she'd heard what the staff member had said. The world's top ranked player bounced lightly from side to side, eyes on the ground, her racket bag slung over her shoulders like a backpack and a silent tune being pumped into her ears by a pair of bright red Beats headphones.

Rachel turned back around, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It was time to get in the zone.

_Present__…_

Rachel sent a flat ball down the T, immediately moving to the center of the baseline to get into the best possible position to try and dominate the rally. Quinn sent a return to her backhand side, which the brunette easily retrieved, sending a crosscourt shot to the blonde's own backhand. Quinn sliced her return, but Rachel was ready for the topspin on the ball. Drawing her hand back, she made to take a big swing at the ball, but slowed down just before actually making contact with the ball. It looked like Quinn had read the well-disguised drop shot a fraction too late, and began a frantic dash to the ball from the baseline just as it bounced. Rachel moved forward, sure that the blonde wouldn't get to the ball before it bounced twice, but getting into position to block the return just in case.

Quinn came sliding in, and somehow got her racket under the ball mere millimeters before it bounced for a second time. The crowd 'oohed' and gasped, and for a second Quinn's eyes met Rachel's as the ball left her racket. Rachel was there to block the only logical shot, a forehand down the line. She had this.

Until Quinn decided to change the play. The World No. 1 took a gamble, and scooped the ball up and over her opponent, crosscourt. Rachel's eyes were back on the ball, and she turned to run as soon as she realized the play Quinn was trying to make. The brunette ran at breakneck speed, catching up to the lob that had landed on the baseline just as it was halfway to bouncing for a second time. Rachel twisted her body out of the way, almost breathless as she swung her racket at the ball. Her forehand went whirling towards the net.

Where Quinn stood in anticipation. With soft hands, she easily volleyed Rachel's return to a spot just across the net. She put backspin on her volley, just in case Rachel decided to sprint in the opposite direction again. But Rachel knew she was beat.

The crowd jumped to their feet, roaring out their appreciation for the magnificent point, and equally fantastic match they had just witnessed.

"Jeux, manche, match, Mademoiselle Fabray. 7-5, 3-6, 12-10" the chair umpire announced over the deafening applause.

Rachel made her way to the net, where Quinn was already waiting, her hands resting on the net cord. The two women shook hands, and Rachel obliged when her vanquisher leaned in to kiss each of her cheeks.

"Good game, Rachel", Quinn complimented quietly, and the brunette did her best to smile at the blonde. The blonde must have sensed her distress, because she squeezed their still clasped hands one last time before letting go and turning towards the chair umpire.

Rachel followed her, robotically reaching up to shake hands with the umpire. She kept reminding herself to take deep breaths, in and out, as she quickly packed up her things, wrapped a towel around her neck, picked up her bag and began the long walk off court.

She heard someone on a microphone saying some words in French that were followed by her name, and got the gist of it when the crowd gave her another ovation as she headed back to the corridor. Rachel briefly raised her hand to acknowledge their appreciation, but quickly returned her eyes to the exit. '_Just keep breathing_' she reminded herself. She knew the disappointment was clear on her face, but she was determined not to break down with the whole world watching.

Quinn's contact details were the furthest thing from her mind right then.


	14. Chapter 14

**Hello again :) First of all, thank you again to everyone that has favourited or followed either myself or my story. It gives me great pleasure to know that there are 146 people out there that want to be alerted the moment I update this story. I hope it doesn't disappoint.**

**Also, thank you to everyone that has reviewed my story. The last update got 12 reviews, which is the most that I've had for any chapter so far. So yay! As always, I try to reply to everyone that writes me a review (which is only possible if you've enabled the PM option on here, so please check!), but again, thank you to everyone that wrote me a review as a guest. I am happy to write you replies as well if you leave an email address or something!**

**There is no Faberry in this forthcoming chapter, but as I have always said, this story is as much about Rachel's journey as a person and player as it is about our two favourite ladies. I believe you see some real character development in this chapter, and I'd love to know if you guys agree.**

**Finally, the actual French Open is just around the corner, which is very exciting for a tennis fan such as myself! On that note, happy reading everyone :) **

Rachel glanced up at the blue sky, distractedly marveling at the glorious weather. The tennis player had arrived in Birmingham the day after her exit from Roland Garros, and barring the occasional early morning shower, had been treated to the best of the English summer.

Shelby and Rachel had set straight to work to rid her of her clay feet, and after four days of practice on the Aegon Classic's grass courts, Rachel felt like she was finally getting comfortable on the faster surface.

It helped that Rachel was quite proficient on the surface to start with. The USTA had made sure that all players coming through it's ranks were given access to every type of playing surface, so the young American had spent her fair share of hours on clay and grass courts back home in the USA. While her good run on clay had surprised even the player herself, Rachel was determined to have even better results on the surface that she had always been at home on.

She was broken from admiring the weather when Shelby pulled up a chair and sat beside her on the practice court. The younger brunette raised her eyebrows in silent question, wondering why her coach was breaking from habit and sitting down in the middle of a training session. She had assumed she would just get to take a few of sips of her drink and a bite of her banana before being summoned back to court for more backhand drills.

Shelby got straight to the point, "So, is the plan to never, ever play another drop shot?" she asked, looking her charge right in the eye.

Rachel spluttered on the drink that was halfway down her throat, "I beg your pardon?"

"You can't fool me Rach. Don't think I haven't noticed that you haven't played a single drop shot in the last four days" Shelby stated. "And before you give me some nonsense excuse, let me tell you that I have intentionally given you dozens of chances to hit the shot. I mean, just now I was playing from almost two meters behind the baseline!"

Shelby's expression softened when she saw the turmoil in her charge's eyes. Reaching out, she laid her hand on Rachel's arm, "This is about your last match, right?"

Rachel couldn't meet her eyes, "No! It's… I'm just trying to go on the offense more. I thought it was my shots that were keeping you so far behind the baseline, and it seemed like a good ploy."

Shelby didn't argue, "Ok. I believe you. But you should know, the drop shot is very effective in a real match. And", she waited for Rachel to look at her, "it was the right selection in that last point against Fabray."

"How can you say that?" Rachel asked, visibly angry. "It cost me the match!"

The older brunette took a deep breath, as if she'd expected this very reaction to her statement, "No, it didn't. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, Fabray wouldn't have gotten the ball back in play. And you would have been back tied at deuce. In fact, I'll bet you couldn't pay her a million dollars to make that same shot again."

By this point Rachel's anger had given way to utter regret, and she was blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay. Shelby must have decided that it was time to change the subject, because when she spoke she said, "Did I ever tell you about my first professional match?"

Currently incapable of producing words, Rachel merely shook her head. Shelby continued, nonplussed, "I was eighteen. My competitor was a Swede named Edith Ward. She was pretty new too, playing her second year on tour. She was ranked two hundred and twenty seven in the world." She smiled, "You never forget these seemingly minor details. I'm sure you know everything about the first woman you faced as a professional too. But I digress. We played two terrible sets, which we split, and then both of us seemed to find form in the third set, which was a cracker. It went into a tiebreak, and I was up 6-2, with four match points, before she won it 8-6."

By this point Shelby had Rachel's full attention, and the now dry-eyed young American was staring at her, waiting for her to continue. So Shelby did, "I kept it together till I came off the court, but sobbed my heart out in the shower. I thought I had blown my one chance of a professional win, and was convinced I'd never win a match in my career. I was devastated." Shelby gave Rachel a pointed look, "But that wasn't how my story would end. I won matches, I won tournaments, I won Slams. And so will you."

Rachel looked unconvinced again, which only turned Shelby's gaze steely, "Rachel, if you're a quitter, then tell me now. I am not here to hold your hand and babysit you while you have a pity party. I'm here to coach you, to train you, to be the best player you can possibly be. I can deal with you having an off day on court, hell, we all have those. But I cannot work with someone who is so busy wallowing in what might have been that they can't learn from their experiences. I agreed to be your coach because I saw something in you, but if I was wrong then you need to tell me now, and we'll end this right here, right now."

Shelby's monologue seemed to bring Rachel back to her senses, "No, Shelby, I… I want to improve, to learn. I just…", she was at a loss for words.

Shelby nodded, "Good." Her features softened again, "Look kid, I'm not trying to be too hard on you, but this sport doesn't give you time to feel sorry for yourself. If you get stuck in that rut then you're never going to realize the potential I see in you. Tennis is not for the weak of heart. You think losing to Lopez for the third straight year at the French Open hasn't stung Fabray? Of course it has. But in one week she'll be back competing at the highest level, and in a year, she'll be back in Paris, trying to win the French again."

Rachel took a deep breath and nodded as her coach's words washed over her. "One last piece of advice Berry. Yes, tennis is all about being aware of what's happening on court, and playing the shot your brain tells you is the right choice. But, it's also about this" she said, resting her right hand over her heart. "It's about having the courage to be brave, and take chances. To come back from a tough loss even stronger. To play shots that defy any logic your brain can come up with, and having the conviction to know you've made the right call. I knew for certain that you have heart when I saw you play that drop shot against Fabray. And I believe it is that quality that will make you a champion someday. You have my word Rachel, keep working hard and a defeat in the quarterfinals of the 2012 French Open will _not_ be the crowning achievement on your resume when you're finished with tennis."

At this point the young brunette was on the verge of tears again, although this time it was for a completely different reason. Rachel was beyond touched at her coach's belief in her, and she was determined not to let her down. Shelby looked her in the eye, "So I ask again, Rachel Berry. Are you a quitter?"

Rachel shook her head, "No Ms. Corcoran, I am not."

The coach smiled, "Good. Now, can we please go fine tune some drop shots?"

Rachel smiled, and stood from her seat. Grabbing her racket, she was about to head to her end of the court when a thought struck her. Turning, she addressed her coach, "Shelby, your first opponent, Edith Ward. I've never heard of her."

Shelby grinned at Rachel's flummoxed expression, "That's probably because she quit at the end of my first year as a pro. She couldn't crack the top two hundred, and figured she didn't have what it took to make it to the upper echelons of the sport. She did send me flowers after I won my first Australian Open though. The letter accompanying it said she'd married a guy that owned an ice-skating rink in Stockholm. That was the last I ever heard from her."

With that, Shelby shrugged her shoulders, grabbed her racket and walked off to her end of the court. Rachel turned around and headed in the opposite direction, and was still shaking her head when Shelby sent a serve her way. '_That will not be my future_' Rachel thought, the determination coursing in her veins as she chipped her return back across the net.

The newfound resolve served Rachel well in the week ahead, especially with all the new distractions that came with making her first Slam quarterfinal. The young American was suddenly the focus of the world's media after her deep run at the Slam propelled her into the top hundred in rankings. Many journalists were calling the new World No. 70 the next big thing in American sport, and maybe even world tennis. She had been interviewed by Sport's Illustrated, The Telegraph and Australian Tennis Magazine, and her Papa, who also served as her manager, had already booked in interviews with TENNIS Magazine and The New York Times for the weekend before Wimbledon began. Speaking of her Papa, he'd also been contacted by several sportswear brands that were interested in bringing Rachel on board as a brand ambassador. Leroy had penciled in meetings with representatives from the brands for the two days immediately following his scheduled arrival in London, and if all went well then Rachel would have a deal in place before she played her opening round match at Wimbledon.

Journalists weren't the only ones interested in Rachel, and she found that she had more people showing up to watch her practice sessions with Shelby. Days when she practiced with Brittany drew in even larger crowds, with the English player quickly turning into a local sporting icon thanks to her own on-court achievements. The two friends were also playing doubles together that week in the hopes of bringing their serve and volley games up to scratch, and it was hard to find an empty seat in the house when their matches were played on outer courts.

Despite the accolades and the newfound attention (everyday Rachel woke up to cellphone notifications stating a few hundred people were now following her on Instagram), Rachel was aware of doubters who believed she was a flash in the pan star. The French Open was famous for producing deep runs from clay court specialists you never really heard of again, and the young brunette knew there was a section of tennis fans who assumed she would go down that route.

Which is why it was with a deep satisfaction that Rachel stood beside Kitty Wilde seven days later, proudly holding onto a glass trophy that stated she was a singles finalist at the 2012 Aegon Classic. No, her trophy wasn't as shiny and pretty as the silver Maud Watson trophy that Kitty Wilde held above her head, but Rachel wasn't complaining. Throughout the week the brunette had played and replayed Shelby's pep talk in her head while in the midst of matches, and she had forced herself to focus on the positives. The optimistic thinking had paid off when Rachel used all her self-belief to dig herself out of a hole against Cohen-Chang in the quarters, and she swore she could see Shelby beam with pride when she used a drop shot on match point. The three hundred and five ranking points for being the losing finalist was the icing on the cake, and Rachel still couldn't believe that she would crack the top fifty when the new rankings were released on Monday.

Rachel walked into her post-match media conference, freshly showered but still carrying the trophy she had won that afternoon. The media handler to her left pointed out to the first journalist picked to ask a question.

"Carol Hummel, The Australian. Congratulations on your first Premier Level final."

Rachel smiled, "Thank you."

"Are you disappointed to have lost?", the woman asked.

"Yes" Rachel answered, honestly. "Very. But, this has been a very good week for me. I beat two three top fifty players and one top twenty player, so all in all, I'm happy with my results over the past seven days. And of course, Kitty played a great final, so I don't begrudge her the win."

"What are your takeaways from the week?", Carol pressed.

Rachel frowned, "Do you mean the positives, or the negatives?"

"Both?", the journalist asked.

The brunette paused to think for a moment, "Like I said, the positives are aplenty. I won five good matches, and I think I played pretty well today too. I got myself out of a few tough situations, which is great for my confidence. I wouldn't really say there are any negatives this week, but I think I could work on my footwork a little bit on grass. I mean, this surface is all about speed, so yeah, I think I could improve on that. I'm sure Shelby's already coming up with twisted ways to make me both miserable and quick!", she smiled.

The gathered journalists laughed at Rachel's quip, before the media handler pointed to another reporter.

"Jacob Israel, with the New York Times. First of all, congratulations on cracking the top fifty for the first time in your career."

Rachel grinned, "Thank you. I still can't believe it myself."

"Well, you'll be No. 48 when the rankings are released tomorrow, so again, congrats."

Rachel ducked her head, smiling but not verbally responding this time. "It's been an incredible rise for you, to make it into the top fifty in just over six months on tour. Did you expect to do so well, so fast?", Jacob asked.

The brunette shook her head, her eyes wide, "Honestly, no. I mean, you always hope, you know? Hope that you'll do well, that you'll beat people you've watched on TV, that you'll do well at tournaments you've grown up watching. But I didn't expect to achieve this much success, this fast. And I think a big part of the reason behind my success is Shelby. As I've said before, her own playing experiences are invaluable to me. As are her inputs into my game."

"So she's the biggest influence on your career?", Jacob asked.

"Right now, yes. But if you're looking at my entire tennis career, then no. My parents influenced my love for the game right at the very beginning, and coaches that I worked with both before and then at the USTA had a great influence in my development as a player. Shelby has helped fine tune everything I learned from them, and taught me new tricks, so to speak", Rachel said.

Another journalist piped up, "Bob Murray, The Telegraph. You don't need your wildcard to get into Wimbledon after breaking into the top one hundred after the French Open. Any thoughts on who the USTA should give the wild card to now?"

"That's really up to the USTA to decide" Rachel said, shaking her head. She was smart enough not to get involved in those decisions, especially publicly. "I know that Jane Hayward did well with the one she got for the French Open, so I'm sure that whoever gets into the main draw at Wimbledon will make the USTA just as proud. We have some great talent waiting in the wings", she smiled.

"Ok, we have time for a couple more questions" the media handler said, before pointing to a journalist.

"Radha Vijapure, The Times of India. Do you feel like there's more pressure on you to do well now that you're winning quite consistently?"

"Definitely", Rachel nodded. "Forget other people's expectations, _I_ expect myself to do well. But to be honest, I've expected that of myself right from the start. I don't think you're going to win if you don't push yourself."

"So you're ready for the pressure of defending points in 2013?", the Indian lady asked.

Rachel visibly shuddered, albeit with a smile on her lips, "Hey, can I just get through the rest of 2012 first?" The journalist's laughed again, and Rachel added, "You're going to make me not want to win any more matches this year!"

When the laughter subsided, Rachel added, "I'm kidding. When the time comes to defend points, I hope I'll be up to that challenge as well." Her mind drifted to her conversation with Quinn in the Players' Lounge at Roland Garros, when the blonde had brought up the same subject. Which then reminded her, for the umpteenth time, that she had still to thank the World No. 1 for the flowers and letter she'd received on her birthday.

Rachel was so lost in thought that she almost didn't hear the media handler end the post-match interview. Smiling, the losing finalist rose from her seat, her mind still on Quinn as she exited the room.


	15. Chapter 15

**Hello everyone :) So, there are now over one hundred reviews to this story, and more than one-hundred-and-fifty followers. Thank you to each and every one of you that has taken the time to write me some feedback, or even just words of encouragement. And thanks to everyone that's followed or favourited this story. A Perfect Match has almost reached the half-century mark of favourites, which is very encouraging. I hope the story continues to meet everyone's expectations.**

**I know that slow-building stories can get frustrating, but I'm doing my best to keep each chapter interesting in it's own way. Obviously Rachel and Quinn will interact more as they begin to play at the same level more often, as opposed to Rachel going off to play smaller tournaments like she did when her ranking wasn't as high. It might not be pretty from a Faberry point of view, but it sure is realistic! I have gotten lots of feedback from tennis fans that say the story is accurate, and I rank that amongst the highest praise.**

**Also, a few people have said that they'd like me to update more often, but to be honest, once a week is the best I can do. You see, it takes me a few hours to write each chapter, and there are other things that need my attention during the week. However, many of you are glad that I update regularly as promised, so that's a plus! **

**Well, those were my notes for the week. Now how about you head on down to the update! Happy reading :)**

A receptionist rose to greet Rachel as she entered the building. The woman had clearly been expecting the tennis player, and quickly led her through another set of doors into a hallway that had yet more doors, both to the left and to the right. Rachel followed the woman, glancing briefly into an open door to her left that seemed to be buzzing with a flurry of activity.

The back wall of the room was covered from end-to-end with a large white backdrop, with large artificial lights aimed at the plain sheet. There were more lights hanging from the ceiling above the sheet, and someone was testing out a camera flash on the ground in front of it. From what Rachel could tell, everyone in the room was wearing black jeans, t-shirts and sneakers. Some of the room's inhabitants caught her interested gaze as she slowed down to peek in the room, and smiled at the young brunette.

Ahead of her, the receptionist opened a door on the right, and held it open for Rachel to pass through. The tennis player entered, taking in the row of individual mirrors all surrounded by little flashbulbs. There were professional makeup chairs in front of every mirror, and a few dozen white dresses hung from a clothes rack at the far end of the room.

"You're the first one here, but don't worry, the makeup team should be along shortly." The receptionist pointed to another door in the room, next to the clothes rack, "The changing rooms are through there. And there's a dining area set up to one side of the studio, if you were after breakfast or a beverage. Is there anything I can get you while you wait? A coffee, perhaps? Or a tea?"

Rachel shook her head, politely, "No thanks. I ate breakfast before I came here."

The receptionist nodded, "Alright then, Ms. Berry. There's an intercom by the door, so please feel free to buzz me if you need anything." And with that, the receptionist marched out of the room.

Rachel sat down in one of the high chairs, and reached out for a stack of magazines on the counter. She couldn't say she was surprised to realize that all the magazines were tennis-related. The American selected the newest edition of Sport's Illustrated, and turned to a page that she had memorized. Staring down at a picture of herself, Rachel thought, '_Yup, looking at yourself in a magazine does not get old._'

The door behind her opened and Rachel, almost guiltily, closed the magazine. Hoping she wasn't blushing, the tennis player turned around to see the receptionist holding the door open for a tall, pale man.

"Thanks sweetheart" the man said, side-eyeing the receptionist. "I've got it from here." He turned his full attention on Rachel as the door closed behind him, "Rachel Berry, I'm Kurt Hummel". Rachel shook the hand he offered as he continued, "I will be your liaison at Adidas. And can I just say again, we're so happy that you opted to sign with us."

Yes, Rachel had made the decision to sign with the German sportswear giant. The fast rising tennis star had also fielded offers from Nike, Reebok, Uniqlo and Asics, and had sat down with her parents to consider every offer. The offer's from each company were similar in the up front money being offered and the bonus' for match and tournament wins, but in the end Adidas had offered her the one thing the other brands couldn't – the chance to train with Steffi Graf at the company's annual training camp in Las Vegas, which was a part of their Adidad Player Development Program. After that, Rachel couldn't sign on the dotted line fast enough.

Adidas wanted to cash in on Rachel's growing popularity by making her a part of its Wimbledon campaign. Which would explain why Rachel was here, in a studio in Central London, barely two days after she had signed her deal.

"I'm happy to be part of the Adidas family too, Mr. Hummel" Rachel said.

"Mr. Hummel? Darling please, I'm barely older than you. Call me Kurt."

Rachel nodded, but Kurt had already taken off in the direction of the clothes rack. "So, you'll be wearing our Stella McCartney line, which FYI, is fabulous" Kurt said, sifting through the dresses as he spoke. "Wimbledon's always a bit hard, what with all the colour restrictions, but I think you'll find that the design of this dress makes enough of a fashion statement", he added, pulling out a dress.

Rachel got her first look at the dress in his hands as he turned. It certainly looked pretty, all white with the Adidas logo in orange in the middle of the chest area. Rachel reached out to touch it when Kurt stopped in front of her.

"It's made from our climalite fabric, which you will find keeps sweat away from your skin." Turning the dress around, Kurt showed her the gap in material at the back, "The top part of the dress contains an inbuilt sports bra, and there's this sliver of a gap where it ends. Petty chic, huh?"

Rachel nodded again, her eyes still trained on the dress. "And for your shoes, we'll be giving you the Adidas Barricade 7's. They should be here later this afternoon, express from our headquarters in Herzogenaurach. I think you'll find that the kit will help bring out your best tennis" he finished.

Rachel met his gaze, and smiled, "Thank you Kurt."

Kurt returned her smile then looked around the quiet room, "Well, no one else is here yet, so why don't we sit down and get to know each other while we wait. After all, I think we're going to be seeing a fair bit of one another."

He sat down in the chair next to Rachel, and the two began to chat. Rachel learned that Kurt was twenty-four year's old, was based at Adidas' North American headquarters in Portland, and had weaseled his way into a job at the company after interning there right after getting a fashion marketing degree from the Parson's Fashion School in New York. Rachel knew enough about the school to be very impressed by Kurt's credentials.

The two were chatting like old friends by the time the door opened again, and what seemed like a gale force swept into the relatively still room. "Why am I always here before the bloody makeup team, Lady Hummel?" Santana Lopez asked. She quickly acknowledged Rachel with a "Hey, Berry", before turning her gaze back on Kurt.

For her part, Rachel didn't know whether to be offended for Kurt, or scared for him. Returning Santana's greeting, she watched nervously as Kurt took a deep breath before replying, "Because they're used to working with actors and models, who are always late. Believe me, I've told them over and over again that sportsmen are a different breed of people, but they refuse to believe me."

Rachel held her breath as the Latina approached the still-seated Kurt, and towered over him. Santana glared down at the man for a moment, before breaking into what could pass as a smile as she ruffled his hair. "You're just lucky I like the clothes you bring me, Kurt."

"Santana! Quit messing with the do!" Kurt shrieked, which only made Santana do it again before she took a seat in the chair on the other side of Rachel.

"Quit complaining, and check on the makeup team Kurt. Some of us have a tournament to prepare for, right Berry?" Santana said, staring at her own reflection in the mirror.

Kurt nodded and rose, all the while trying to fix his now very disheveled hair. He was halfway out the door when Santana called after him, "And bring me a donut on your way back!"

The Latina looked at Rachel in the mirror, "So, long time, no see Berry."

Rachel met her gaze, "Yeah, it's been a while. Congratulations on winning the French."

The Latina acknowledged her congratulations with a nod of her head, before replying, "You did well too. A quarterfinal showing on your debut is impressive. And from what I saw, you almost had Q beat." She kept going before Rachel could thank her, "Of course, I won on my debut, and have still to actually lose at Roland Garros, but hey, who's counting?", she finished with a wink.

Rachel shook her head, amused at the Spaniard's cockiness, and was awarded with a grin from the Latina. Kurt reentered the room, and handed Santana the donut she had asked for, plus a coffee that she hadn't. "Cheers Kurt" the Spaniard said, taking a bite of the sugary treat.

The Adidas rep nodded, "No problem. I've spoken to the makeup team. They're just parking."

"Ok" Santana said, already on her second mouthful of donut. "By the way, who else is coming today?"

"Well, you and Rachel are the first one's in, and then we have Delacour and Chan coming in at eleven-thirty, by which point you two should be in the studio. And then we have Wozniaki and Cohen-Chang coming in at two" Kurt answered.

The Latina turned to look at Rachel, "Who did your friend Brittany sign with?"

"Asics" Rachel replied, and thought she saw a flash of disappointment cross the Spaniard's face.

Santana popped the last bit of donut into her mouth, before asking Kurt "No guys today?"

Kurt shook his head, "No, we've scheduled the men in for tomorrow."

One of the people from the studio came into the room looking for Kurt and took him out to the shooting floor, which left Rachel alone with Santana. This time it was the American who broke the silence, "So, how have you been, Santana?"

The Latina shrugged, "Can't complain. I'm glad the clay court season is over though, it seems to be the busiest time of the year. I got to take a quick holiday after Paris, which was nice."

"Yeah?" Rachel asked, "Where did you go?"

"Los Angeles" Santana stated, adding "I promised my kid sister that I'd take her to Disneyland".

"Aww, that was nice of you" Rachel cooed, which only caused Santana to frown.

"I don't do nice, Berry. She kept bugging me, and it was the only way to get her to shut up" the Latina huffed.

"If that's what you tell yourself, Lopez", Rachel smirked.

Her sassiness caused a break in Santana's armour, "I knew you had some bite to you! Ha, wait till I tell Q", the Spaniard grinned.

The mention of the blonde's name reminded Rachel that she had still to contact the World No. 1. "Why would you tell Quinn that I have "bite"?", she asked, making air quotes around the last word.

"Because Fabray thinks you're polite, well-mannered and sweet, and nothing gives me more pleasure than routinely bursting that woman's bubble" Santana replied, as if the answer was obvious.

Rachel's chest swelled with joy at the knowledge that Quinn had obviously discussed her with the Latina, at least once. Her happiness must have been clear to see, because Santana raised an eyebrow and opened her mouth to say something, but was interrupted by a stream of people entering the room.

"Good morning loves! I'm so sorry we're late!" a woman with a strong Cockney accent said as she placed two large makeup cases on the counter between Rachel and Santana. The woman had bright red hair, which made her already pale skin seem practically translucent. Her complexion reminded Rachel of Robert Pattinson's diamond-like sparkling skin from the Twilight movies, and it took all of her self-control to not burst into giggles when the woman introduced herself as Eddie.

From there on things were a blur for a while. Kurt came in, and suggested that the two tennis players get dressed before having their makeup done, which made complete sense seeing that their dresses were white and had to be slipped on over their heads. Rachel was impressed when the dress fit her like a glove, and she knew that she would be very comfortable in it on court.

Once changed, she got back into the chair to get what Santana was calling "war paint". By the time Eddie and her team were done with Rachel, even the American could barely recognize herself. The brunette quite honestly thought the makeup was a bit much, but Eddie assured her that it would hardly show on camera.

Kurt went out to the studio to let the photographer know they were ready, while Eddie and her assistants headed off to have a quick smoke. That left Rachel alone with Santana again, and the American almost died of shock when the Latina wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pointed her cellphone at their faces.

"Smile, Berry. This is going on my Instagram!" Santana said, before pushing the button. "Oops, I should turn my flash off. Ok, let's try that again" the Spaniard said, taking another picture. She looked at her phone screen, before humming in approval, "Yup, we look like two hot bitches."

Rachel watched as she tapped her screen a few times, before pausing to look up at Rachel. "Are you on here?" she asked.

The shorter brunette nodded, "Yup."

Santana rolled her eyes at Rachel's monosyllabic reply, "C'mon, don't leave me in suspense Berry. What's your user name?"

"Berrylicious" Rachel said, her cheeks colouring.

"Wanky" the Latina smirked, winking at Rachel before looking back down at her screen.

A moment later Rachel's own phone made a sound, which turned out to be an alert that 'AuntieSnixx' was now following her on Instagram, and had tagged her in a photograph. Rachel had to admit that she and Santana really did look good in the picture, which was captioned "Berry and I getting dolled up for Wimbledon". And Eddie was right, the makeup barely showed on camera.

Rachel hit the 'Like' button underneath the picture, and had just followed Santana back when the Latina drew her attention with a short laugh.

"Something funny?" Rachel asked.

Santana shook her head, "Nah. I just noticed that Quinn's following you."

"She is?" Rachel asked. This was definitely news to her. How had she not noticed?

"Seriously?!" Santana asked, her face a picture of incredulity as she looked at Rachel. The Latina was stopped from adding to that one word when her phone rang. Looking down at the screen, she let out another bark of laughter before answering the call, "I knew you'd call!"

With Santana now on the phone, Rachel pushed a few buttons on her phone to check her list of followers on Instagram. There was one person in particular that she was looking for.

"Yup, turns out she signed with Adidas too…. Mmm hmm… Hey Berry, Q says hello…" Rachel looked up at the mention of the blonde's name, and was met with the twinkling gaze of a very smug-looking Latina, who didn't actually wait for her to respond, "She says hi back Q… We're about to start the photo shoot… Nah, the one near Tottenham Court Road… Aren't you training this afternoon?... Uh huh, sure…" Santana spoke.

Rachel continued scrolling through the list of her followers, with one ear now firmly tuned into Santana's end of the conversation, and realized that Quinn was indeed following her. The American smiled when she saw her user name, 'TheRealQuinnBee', and immediately followed her back. She was scrolling through the blonde's pictures, hitting the 'Like' button on most of them, when Kurt came back into the room to tell them they were ready for the tennis players in the studio.

Santana rose from her chair and was winding up her call with Quinn when Rachel interrupted her, "Santana, could you please ask Quinn if it's ok for me to get her phone number off you?"

The smug look was back on the Spaniard's face as she spoke into the mouthpiece, "Q, Berry wants your number. Really? Are you sure?"

Rachel wasn't enjoying being at Santana's mercy, but she could tell that the Latina was loving her little power trip. What else could explain that smug look on her tanned features? "Well, if you're sure… Alright, later Q."

Santana ended the call, and stared at Rachel for a long moment before her face cracked into a smirk, "Ok Berry, write this down, and don't make me repeat myself…"


	16. Chapter 16

**Hello faithful readers :) Before we get to the chapter update, here are my weekly notes.**

**Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone that has followed or favourited either this story or yours truly. It makes me incredibly happy, regardless of whether you did it after the first chapter or you did it five minutes ago. I am not, and will never be, one of those writer's that insinuates that more follows/favourites/reviews will somehow encourage me to write better/longer/faster chapters. I update once a week, and will continue to do so until this story has been completed. But, as I always say, it is nice to be appreciated, so really, merci beaucoup. **

**Now, this new chapter. I will say, it was going to be very different when I started writing it, but I decided to go in a different direction. I hope you like it. Just so you know, I don't plan on taking forever to get the girl's together, but I'm also not done with the build up yet. To me this story harks back to days when you liked someone, and it took you a while to realise that you did. And then you didn't know if they liked you too, and you overanalysed every little interaction that you had with them. And you just wished you knew what was going on in their heads. Ring a bell for anyone? No? Just me? **

**Thank you to everyone that wrote me a review. I will reply to you all very soon, if your PM settings allow me to. For all the guest's that reviewed, thank you :) **

**Finally, the WTA has released a rather funny video of some of the top ranked female tennis players making emoticon faces. I suggest watching it if you need a laugh. And the French Open starts Monday, so yay!**

**On to the update! Enjoy! **

Rachel's phone pinged, alerting her to a new message. The brunette paused, the liquid eyeliner in her hand hovering mid air as she glanced at the message bubble that had popped up on her locked screen. Smiling at the words, she looked back at her reflection and applied a quick line of the liquid over her lashes before lifting the phone from the bathroom counter. Unlocking the phone, she reread the message she'd just received.

**Quinn Fabray** – _Yes, I noticed that too! Guess we'll just have to find a way to meet in the final ;)_

The two sentences from the World No. 1 were in reply to a text Rachel had sent earlier that afternoon, after watching the live stream of the Wimbledon draw ceremony on her laptop. As the women's defending champion, Quinn had been obliged to attend the event alongside her male counterpart, Sam Evans.

As the top two seeds, it was a given that Quinn and Santana would be in opposite ends of the draw. Quinn was joined by the third- seeded Fleur Delacour in the top half of the draw, while Santana would meet the fourth-seeded Marley Rose in the semifinals if the draw played out the way it was projected to. Rachel had watched the remaining twenty-eight seeds be divided equally into the two halves, but had to wait till the actual draw was released to see where she herself had landed.

As it turned out, Rachel had been placed alongside Santana in the bottom half of the draw, where she would also have to compete with the likes of Wilde, Stephens, Chan and Azarenka to make it to the final. While the draw wasn't easy in the slightest, the brunette found herself feeling slightly relieved that she wouldn't have to contend with Quinn till the final, that is, if both of them made it that far in the tournament. She'd texted the blonde to alert her to their different paths at the upcoming major, leaving out the bit where she was happy they were in opposite sides of the draw.

Grinning, Rachel's fingers flew over the touchscreen as she typed out her own reply.

'_I'll do my best to uphold my end of the bargain :)_'

Seconds later, her phone pinged again.

**Quinn Fabray** – _As will I. Back at the hotel now, and I need to hurry if I want to make it to the party on time. See you soon, Rach._

Rachel locked her screen without replying. Looking back at her reflection, she lifted a compact from the counter and applied some blush to her cheeks. The rouge was followed by some lipstick and gloss, which completed the sparse makeup look that Rachel was going for. Taking a step back she eyed herself critically and, satisfied with what she saw, turned and exited the bathroom.

"It's all yours, father's" Rachel shouted out, heading towards her bedroom. The Berry's had decided to rent an apartment in SW19 for the duration of their stay in London. It allowed the New Yorker's some semblance of a family life while in the UK, and was also convenient for Rachel as she trained and played at what was arguably the world's most famous tennis tournament.

The brunette walked into her room, and as she had been doing all day, stopped to admire the dress that was hanging in her open closet. The knee-length, long-sleeved embroidered chiffon lace silk dress was stunning, and Rachel still couldn't believe that she would get to wear it tonight.

The dress had shown up at the apartment that morning, hidden from view in a large box that piqued Rachel's curiosity. The box itself was held in the arms of one Kurt Hummel, whose lips held a mysterious smile as he explained to the tennis player that since she was wearing Adidas' Stella McCartney line, it was only fitting that she also wore one of the designer's creations to the WTA's Pre-Wimbledon Party that night. The Adidas man had then lifted the top off the box with a flourish, and Rachel had quite literally squealed when she saw the creation inside. Needless to say, Kurt's theatrical side had been pleased by her reaction. And this was _before_ he fished the Barbara Bui blue suede pumps and Chanel clutch out of his courier bag.

Rachel got dressed, slipping the dress up over her shoulders and pulling the zip up as high as she could by herself. Walking to the door, she opened it and called out, "Daddy? Papa?"

She heard some footfalls coming her way, before Hiram came into view. "What's up, baby girl?"

Rather than answer, the brunette simply opened the door wider and turned around, "Could you help me, please?"

She heard her Daddy take a sharp intake of breath, before he walked closer and pulled the zip up the rest of the way. Rachel tugged the bottom of the dress to straighten it properly, before turning back around to look at her father. Hiram looked his daughter up and down, his throat bobbing with emotion, before he swallowed and spoke, "Oh sweetheart… You look stunning."

Rachel smiled bashfully, "Thank you Daddy. I haven't seen myself yet, but I'll take your word for it."

Hiram opened his mouth and yelled, "Leroy! Come here!"

"I'm getting dressed Hiram. What is it?" the other man yelled back. Based on the sound of his voice, it sounded to Rachel like he was in the bathroom.

"You'll see when you get here!" Hiram yelled, and Rachel knew he was cryptic on purpose. It was an open secret that her Papa's curiosity often got the better of him. Sure enough, she could hear more footsteps coming her way, and moments later her Papa joined her Daddy in gushing over her appearance. '_I haven't even put my shoes on yet_' Rachel smirked inwardly, knowing she was in for another round of gushing when her parents saw the complete ensemble.

Forty minutes and _lots_ of pictures later, Rachel, Hiram and Leroy set off to the Pre-Wimbledon Party at The Roof Gardens. The two male Berry's were dressed to match their daughter, both turned out in sharp designer suits. This was the first professional tennis party that Rachel was attending with her father's, and arguably the biggest one she had ever attended herself. The excitement in the taxi was palpable.

Rachel pulled her phone out of the bright orange clutch, whose colour clashed with her dress and shoes in a surprisingly stylish way. Unlocking the screen, she quickly sent Brittany a text saying she was on her way, and after a moment of contemplation, forwarded the same message to Quinn. The brunette considered sending the text to Santana as well, but decided against it. She had been surprised when the Latina texted her a couple of days ago asking if she was interested in having a practice hit the next day, and while the subsequent training session and all her other interactions with Santana had been great, Rachel didn't think they had reached a text-on-your-way-to-a-party level of friendship yet.

That was not an issue she had with Quinn. Rachel had texted the blonde to thank her for the flowers on her birthday immediately after leaving the Adidas photo shoot, and the two American's had instantly started a text-dialogue that was still ongoing days later. Rachel found Quinn's texts to be amusing ('_They're playing that terrible 'Wimbledon' movie on BBC 4. How could someone make a movie about tennis that's so factually incorrect?!_'), informative ('_Sorry for the lateness of my reply. I was at the British Museum. They have an excellent exhibition called 'The Horse'. You should check it out if you have the time._'), random ('_Not much, it's raining, so I figured I'd reply to some fan mail. Did you know Mickey Mouse once received 800,000 fan letters in a single year? True story, my friend_.'), and, in a nutshell, completely entertaining.

Despite all the texting, the two women had yet to meet on this trip to London. All of Rachel's time seemed to be divided between training on court or in the gym and spending time with her parents. The tennis player had also given a few more interviews, and she and her father's were also discussing a few more endorsement offers that had come her way. As her Papa pointed out, Rachel's career was on the rise, and there were companies that wanted to lock her in while she was still a relatively unknown entity. Both he and her Daddy had advised that she wait till after Wimbledon before considering any new offers, and Rachel had opted to heed their council.

Rachel suspected that Quinn was just as busy, if not busier, than Rachel had been, and was really looking forward to finally seeing her blonde friend that evening. She suspected her father's were just as keen to meet the famous tennis player, and not because they were star stuck by the talented young woman. Well, not _entirely_ at least. Rachel had told her parent's about the flowers Quinn had sent her for her birthday, and related some of the more pointless facts Quinn had texted about over the last few days. Hiram and Leroy had dropped many hints indicating their interest in meeting the woman they'd read so much about, and heard even more about in the last week alone. They'd also brought up how Finn spoke well of her, and Rachel had almost laughed out loud when they made it sound like they were super tight with Finn Hudson. Quirky and eccentric as they were, she wouldn't swap her father's for anything in the world.

Rachel's phone pinged, and she looked down at the message.

**Brittany Pierce** – _I'm here Rach. By the bar._

Rachel shot her British friend a reply telling her she'd see her soon, and then, for no apparent reason, rechecked her text conversation with Quinn. Her brow furrowed when she saw a 'Read' notification under her last message to Quinn. It was unlike the blonde not to reply to a message. '_Maybe she's still getting ready_', Rachel thought, locking her phone and putting it back into her clutch.

The black taxi pulled up outside the venue in Kensington, and flashing camera bulbs left Rachel momentarily blind as she and her father's stepped out of the vehicle. The WTA had sent out a brief earlier that week, alerting players to the fact that WTA-accredited journalists and photographers would be _inside_ the venue. So the ones gathered outside were only there in the hopes of getting shots or footage that they could sell independently to magazines, papers or tabloids. Rachel politely nodded and waved at the gathered cameramen, steeling herself to ignore the expected calls of '_Who are you wearing?_' as she and her father's tried to make their way inside.

Which is why it was completely unexpected to hear the call of "Any thoughts on the Russell Fabray situation?"

The American stopped in her tracks, and turned towards the sound of the voice, only to be met by even more blinding lights. The owner of the voice must have realized he'd gotten a reaction, because he continued, "Do you really think Fabray was unaware of what her father was up to?"

Rachel turned to look at her parents with confusion spelt all over her features, and it was Leroy who sprang into action, gently taking his daughter by the arm and leading her into The Roof Gardens. The Public Relations expert walked Rachel in through the sliding doors, where the sudden quiet was a jarring contrast to the babel outside. An event staffer met with the trio outside the elevator, and Rachel was on the young man before he could even open his mouth to greet them, "What's happened to Russell Fabray?"

"I'm sorry, what?" the man asked, his nervous gaze flitting between the three Berry's before landing back on Rachel.

"Russell Fabray, Quinn's father. The paparazzi outside was saying something about him" Rachel prompted.

"Uh, sorry, I don't know who that is" the man replied.

"You don't know who… You're with the WTA, right?" the brunette asked, the incredulity evident in her voice.

The man actually looked relieved at her question, "Oh, no! No! I'm just an intern with the company that's organized the event tonight. But, uh, I'm sure someone can answer your questions upstairs." He led the trio to a stairwell, and nodded as they ascended the stairs.

The Berry's walked up, and through some more sliding doors, where they stepped on to a red carpet that led to a large step-and-repeat banner. Three different tennis players standing a couple of meters apart were being interviewed by different journalists, all in front of the same banner.

A clipboard-carrying woman approached Rachel and her father's, "Rachel Berry? I'm Terri Del Monico, from the WTA's Communications and Publicity division. We're just asking that the player's have a quick chat with the journalists before they head in tonight. And pose for a few pictures. It shouldn't take more than fifteen-twenty. And, we find, it's best to just get it out of the way at the start. Is that alright?"

Rachel nodded, and was about to ask the woman about Russell Fabray when she had another idea, "That's no problem. But, uh, would you might if I quickly used the restroom?"

"Of course, it's right down that hall" Terri nodded, her eyes already on another player who'd just walked in behind Rachel. "Just let me know when you're back out, and I'll put you on to the journalists. Your guests are welcome to stay inside while you deal with your press commitments."

Rachel thanked her, and marched down the hall that led to the room where the main event was being held. She ignored Hiram's call as she passed the restroom's, leaving her father's with no choice but to follow her. Once in the room, the brunette made a beeline for the bar, where as promised, Brittany was waiting for her. And keeping her company was Santana Lopez.

Rachel would have dwelled more on why the Brit and the Latina were standing so close together if she didn't have a more pressing issue on her mind. "Why were the press outside asking about Russell Fabray?" she asked, in lieu of a proper greeting.

"What?" Santana asked, looking mildly irritated at the sudden intrusion.

"Outside. They asked about the "Russell Fabray situation" Rachel said, making air quotes as she spoke.

"I don't know what you're-" Santana started, before something in her peripheral vision caught her attention. Rachel, Brittany, Hiram and Leroy followed her line of sight, and noticed that most of the people in the room had drifted over to the television set mounted on the far wall. Without a word, the Spaniard set off towards the little crowd, followed by the rest of the little group.

The television was tuned to BBC News, with the words 'Live Breaking News' prominently displayed just below where the journalist's chest area should be. The presenter herself was standing in front of what appeared to be one of Wimbledon's lush green courts, and her voice grew louder the closer they got, "…earnings from 2009 to 2011. Our sources say he will be charged with setting up front companies to avoid paying income taxes on his daughter's multimillion-dollar tennis income."

The broadcast cut back to the studio, where a man was seated behind a desk, "Thank you Anita. We'll keep checking back with you as more details emerge. If you're just tuning in then here's a quick recap of this story. The IRS has charged the father of the world's top female tennis player with tax evasion and tax fraud. American tax officials believe Russell Fabray created bogus front companies and set up complex financial maneuvers to avoid paying income on Quinn Fabray's earnings from both her successful tennis career as well as her personal endorsement deals from 2009 through to the last financial year. Mr. Fabray serves as his daughter's business manager, and just to be clear, the IRS hasn't leveled any charges against the player herself. Russell Fabray is currently in London, where his daughter is scheduled to begin the defense of her Wimbledon title on Monday. Our sources expect him to fly back to America later tonight."

There was silence in the room after the telecast cut to a commercial break. Santana turned around, her unfocused eyes briefly landing on Rachel and Brittany before she wordlessly walked to the exit and disappeared. Rachel didn't need to ask where she was going.

She just really wished she could go too.


	17. Chapter 17

**Hello! First of all, give yourself a pat on the back if you picked up on the Peter Graf angle. Yes, he's my inspiration for Russell Fabray, at least in his tax evading ways. It was a dark time in the life of the actual tennis player, and I thought it was a realistic angle to go with in my story.**

**Secondly, thank you again to everyone that has favourited/followed either myself or this story. As it stands, A Perfect Match has 174 follows, which is a-mazing! I take great pride in the knowledge that the words I write are enjoyed, and even relished, by many.**

**As always, I am uber grateful to everyone that has written me a review. Your words of encouragement and even your criticism's are welcome, and help me greatly as I craft my tale. As some of you might know, I don't have a beta, so feel free to point out any typos/grammatical mistakes, and I'll go back and fix them :)**

**The French Open has begun, and so far the female seeds are falling like flies on a hot summer's day. Should make for an interesting finale to the tournament! Are any of you watching? I'd love to hear your predictions!**

**And now, without further ado, here's the update. Enjoy!**

_Monday, June 25, 2012_

**TAXING TIMES AHEAD FOR RUSSELL FABRAY**

By Jacob Ben Israel, Tennis Correspondent, in London

Rachel scrolled through the article on her cell phone, but found that it told her nothing she hadn't already heard either from her coach or fellow players in the locker room. '_Russell flew back home to Miami on Friday night, and immediately consulted with his legal team'_… '_Quinn Fabray's father has refused to speak to the press yet, choosing instead to release a brief statement claiming his innocence_'… '_In an unprecedented move, the International Tennis Federation permitted the World No. 1 to miss yesterday's pre-tournament press conference to deal with her personal matters'_.

Russell Fabray's legal woes had dominated all conversations and newspaper headlines over the past couple of days. Journalists asked other players for their opinion on the subject and sports pundits weighed in on the matter. Rachel had discovered that the locker room wasn't as friendly as everyone had made it out to be, with some women taking obvious delight in the scandal. The young American had noticed that it was mainly the lower-ranked players that were doing the gossiping, while women who had probably crossed paths with Quinn quite a few times were refraining from joining in, and Rachel considered that to be the silver lining to this mess. Of course no one had really come right out and badmouthed the very well-liked top seed, but that hasn't stopped some women from insinuating that there was no way Quinn didn't know what was happening with her money. Rachel had lost count of the number of times she'd literally bit down on her tongue to stop herself from defending the blonde whilst in the locker room. Even though she didn't doubt her fellow American's innocence for a second, the truth was that Rachel hardly knew any more facts that everyone else.

Closing the browser window currently opened to the New York Times' online edition, Rachel checked her text messages again, clicking on the conversation thread between herself and Quinn. The last message in there had been the one she'd sent Quinn a few minutes after Santana had marched out of the Players' Party at The Roof Gardens. The young American had composed, erased, recomposed and re-erased at least a dozen texts before sending one that simply stated '_I'm here, if you need anything at all._' She had stared at the '_Delivered_' icon that appeared mere seconds after she sent the message, and obsessed over the '_Read_' icon that followed soon after. Since then she had been doing her best not to fixate on why Quinn hadn't replied yet.

Rachel sighed, and locked her phone screen. She stared out the window, not really taking in any details of what she was seeing until the car pulled to a stop outside the Players' entrance at the All England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club.

The driver handed Rachel her kit bag, receiving an absentminded thanks from the player before she took off towards the lockers. Glancing at her wristwatch, the brunette noted that she had twenty-five minutes before she was meant to help Brittany warm-up for her 4 p.m. match, after which she would have a proper practice session with Shelby.

A few fellow players greeted Rachel and Shelby as the two women headed along. The young American was no longer an unknown entity, especially now that she had cracked the top 50. Fellow female players had regularly started introducing themselves to the teenager in the locker room and gym, and even some of the male players had introduced themselves to the brunette. Her circle of acquaintances had widened considerably, and Rachel was hoping that walking into the Players' lounge during a rain delay would be much less awkward than it had been that first time in Paris.

Turning a corner, her attention was immediately drawn to the half dozen television screens on the far wall of the clubhouse's main foyer. Rachel paused in her tracks to quickly survey the live action, and her attention was immediately drawn to Center Court, where Quinn was in the middle of her first-round match against the wildcard Englishwoman Padma Patil. The sound on the TV was muted so Rachel couldn't hear the commentary, but it looked like the blonde was cruising along after winning the first set 6-2. She was currently up 4-0 in the second, and seemed to be on track to an easy two-sets-to-love win.

The camera cut to a mid-shot of Quinn's face, which appeared to be a mask of focus and determination. Still, Rachel didn't have to look hard to realize that there were slight dark circles under the blonde's eyes, and in Rachel's opinion she looked the most exhausted the brunette had ever seen her.

Rachel's gaze lingered on the screen for another few moments before she continued on her walk to the locker room.

_Wednesday, June 27, 2012_

**RUSSELL FABRAY INCARCERATED OVER CHARGES OF TAX EVASION **

By P. Figgins, Sports Correspondent

_Police arrested the father of four-time Grand Slam champion Quinn Fabray on Monday, citing "urgent suspicions of tax evasion" in the management of his daughter's considerable income from match win's and brand endorsements._

_The arrest of Russell Fabray comes mere days after about a dozen IRS tax inspectors made a surprise raid on the family mansion in Miami on June 22, seizing a large number of documents. Authorities have not revealed much about what they found, but sources indicate that Russell set up bogus companies in low-tax countries, thereby saving millions in tax payments._

_While investigations are continuing, federal authorities insist they have found no cause to issue a warrant for Quinn Fabray as well. The off-court drama did not hinder the World No. 1's defense of her Wimbledon title, with the top seed making easy work of her unheralded British opponent Padma Patil in a routine 6-2, 6-0 first round win on Center Court._

_However, the American did decline to discuss the matter in her post-match conference, with a member of the tournaments staff reading a prepared statement before the player entered the conference room._

_(Check our website for the video of Quinn Fabray's full post-match conference)_

Rachel opened up her laptop, and waited for it to boot up. She looked up in surprise when her Dad set down his plate of breakfast before taking a seat across her.

"Is there a reason why you're letting your eggs and toast cool down?" Hiram asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

Rachel gave her father a guilty look, pushing her laptop away and her plate closer, "Sorry Daddy. I got distracted."

Hiram shrugged, lifting his own knife and fork and slicing into the still-steaming pile of bacon on his plate, "An athlete's gotta eat."

His daughter nodded before biting into her toast, the crisp bread making a crunchy sound as she chewed. Hiram swallowed his own mouthful before speaking again, "So, how does this work?" he asked, looking at the rain that spattered against the living room window of their rented apartment.

Rachel sipped her herbal tea, "Well, my match isn't scheduled till 4:30 p.m., and I have a practice court booked for 3. But I've been asked to stay put till tournament organizer's can reshuffle the schedule. Apparently yesterday's rain has thrown things into a bit of disarray."

The downpour had begun in the late afternoon the previous day, causing major disruptions in the schedule. A whole bunch of Round 2 matches had been postponed without a single ball being hit, and many ongoing matches in the top-half of the draw were also interrupted mid-play. Needless to say, the messed up schedule's domino effect had also spilled onto today's matches, which included Rachel's first round fixture. Center Court, with it's relatively new retractable roof, was currently the only play-ready court at Wimbledon.

"Mmm, well, it doesn't look like the rain's going to ease up anytime soon" Hiram pointed out.

"Yeah, that's what I was told over the phone too. But I should still be able to head over to Wimbledon to have a hit on one of the indoor practice court's later today", his daughter agreed. "And Shelby will want me to hit the gym for a while", she added.

Hiram nodded, his eyes glancing down to the newspaper placed beside Rachel's plate, "Any news of your friend?"

Rachel shook her head, trying not to look too miserable. She was really quite worried about Quinn, who had also failed to reply to Rachel's second text congratulating her on her first round win.

"Poor thing" Hiram muttered. "It can't be easy, this whole mess with her father."

Rachel stared at him for a moment, before making up her mind and grabbing her cellphone. Her fingers flew over the touch screen, typing out the words '_Is Quinn alright?_', before hitting send.

The door to the apartment opened, and Leroy walked in, carrying a couple of bags and shaking the water out of his hair. "God, it's a deluge out there" he said, closing the door behind him.

"Well, it was _your_ idea to go to the markets in this weather. Let me guess, you were the only one there" Hiram said drily.

"No, I wasn't" Leroy shot back quickly, looking mildly irked but not sounding too convincing.

"Whatever you say, hun" Hiram smirked. "Anyway, now that you're back and Rach's still here, I think it might be a good time to have that talk we were discussing."

"What talk?" Rachel asked, looking back and forth between her parents.

"Can I make myself a coffee first? I'm freezing!" Leroy asked.

A few minutes later, Leroy sat down, placing a steaming hot cup of coffee before him on the table. He reached for Hiram's hand as he addressed his daughter, "Sweetie, your Daddy and I were talking, and we think it's best for us not to handle your finances any longer."

"What?! Why?" Rachel asked, her face a mask of confusion.

Hiram waved his free hand at the newspaper in front of her, shrugging his shoulders as he did. "Oh, c'mon! Like you'd ever do any of that!" Rachel said, her tone disbelieving.

"That's not the point Rach. It'll actually be simpler if you got a sports agent. Someone who you will _employ_ to negotiate your contracts, handle your PR, recommend investments and even file your taxes" Leroy said,

"Ok, fine. I'll hire your PR firm then" Rachel stated. Looking adamant.

"No, you won't" Leroy said, sounding firm. "You are my daughter, our daughter. Our beautiful, talented and now world-famous daughter. And we are your parents, who will always be here to guide you and advise you. But we've decided that it's best to avoid any conflict of interest when it comes to your career."

Hiram piped in "I look at Quinn Fabray, and I can't imagine how I'd feel if it was you going through that. You have to believe that her father probably started out with his heart in the right place, or at least a warped version of the right place, where all he wanted was the best for his daughter. And look what that's done for her. There are companies that specialize in looking after an athlete's off-court needs, and I, _we_, think you should sign up with one of them."

Rachel didn't like it, but she could see the sense in her parents' reasoning. She nodded her head slowly, "Ok. Do you have any recommendations?"

Leroy smiled at his daughter, "Yes. And I've already taken the liberty of contacting IMG, CAA and Octagon, amongst others, through email. How about we meet with them after your Wimbledon campaign, and see what they have to offer?"

Rachel nodded, "And you'll help me decide?"

"Always" Hiram said, and Leroy nodded in agreement.

Rachel's phone pinged, and she glanced down at the message that popped up on her locked screen.

**Santana Lopez** – _No. But she's Quinn freaking Fabray, which means she's tough. _

_Friday, June 29, 2012_

**FABRAY TRIAL SET FOR MID-AUGUST**

By P. Figgins, Sports Correspondent

Rachel glanced at the title of the article on the back page of The Telegraph, which someone had left lying around on a bench in the locker-room. Grabbing the newspaper, she quickly popped it into the locker bearing her name so she could read it later, before following Shelby to her post-match press conference.

The brunette couldn't help but feel pleased after her second round win, especially since it was her second match in two days. The rain had washed out all of Wednesday's matches on Wimbledon's outside courts, so tournament organizers were currently playing catch-up to get it back on schedule. That had meant that most players from the bottom-half of the draw and a large number from the top-half had to play matches on back-to-back days, an uncommon occurrence at a grand slam. Players like Rachel, whose tournament was supposed to start on the previous Wednesday, would also have to play their third-round fixtures on Saturday, meaning that they would be playing for three straight days. The brunette just hoped she was still alive in the tournament so she could enjoy the traditional day off on the middle Sunday.

The young American checked her phone as she walked behind Shelby, unsurprised to see a few text messages congratulating her on her win. Rachel quickly replied to her father's, before going back to the message inbox and scrolling through the other new messages. Her eyes almost popped out of their sockets when she saw a new text from Quinn, and she hurriedly opened it.

**Quinn Fabray** – _Hi Rach, sorry for taking so long to reply to both your texts. Santana told me you messaged her asking about me too. I'm ok, all things considered. I keep hoping that all this is just a nightmare and I'll wake up, but yeah. I appreciate your concern, really. Thanks for thinking of me. I'm watching you on TV as I type, and you're killing it on there. I go on soon, and will keep trying to hold up my end of the bargain :)_

Rachel was rereading the text when she walked straight into Shelby's back. She looked up to meet the amused gaze of her coach. "You teenagers should come with a warning sign when you're on your phones" the older brunette laughed.

Her young charge looked completed abashed as she apologized, "Sorry, Coach."

Shelby smiled good-naturedly, "No harm, no foul. Shall we?", she asked, indicating at the door marked 'Media Conference Room 3' beside them.

Rachel nodded, and opened the door to enter the room. She stopped short just as she crossed the threshold, wondering if her eyes were deceiving her. Shelby came to a stop beside her, and looked just as confused when she saw that there wasn't a single journalist in there. Both women's attention was diverted to a media handler who approached them, looking very apologetic.

"Is there some sort of problem?" Shelby asked.

"Er, no, no problem Ms. Corcoran" the man said in a strong English accent. "All of the journalists are just preoccupied with another match that they deem to believe rather interesting."

"_All_ of them think this other match is interesting?" Shelby asked, her tone incredulous.

"Yes, Ms. Corcoran. I apologize. And to you too, Ms. Berry. This has never happened before, truly. Well played, by the way" he said, addressing Rachel.

Rachel nodded slowly, "So, I don't have to do a post-match interview?" she asked.

"That is correct" the tournament staffer confirmed. "You have fulfilled your media obligations by coming to the conference room as scheduled. It is not your fault that the journalists aren't here to interview you. However, if you do wish to make a statement then I can record anything you want to say on the camera over there" he added, indicating towards a video camera that was pointing at the chair the players sat on during their interviews.

"Oh, no! There's nothing I want to say" Rachel smiled, and the American really was quite happy to not have to sit through a question and answer session right then. It meant she could head straight to the massage table.

Rachel and Shelby thanked the media handler, and were about to leave when the older brunette stopped, "Out of curiosity, which match has every journalist so engrossed?"

"Fabray versus Pierce, on Center Court" the man said. "Our girl has won the first set, and was up two breaks of serve in the second the last time I checked. It looks like Fabray is going home today. Quite an upset if she can pull it off, as you would imagine. And that too, at the hands of one of our own."

Rachel could feel her heart plummet, and she immediately set off for the main foyer. The brunette felt guilty, knowing she should be happy for her old friend, who had in fact asked Rachel for tips on how to beat Quinn just that morning. The teenager had tried to ignore the sense that she was betraying Quinn as she pointed out weaknesses in the World No. 1's game to Brittany. It was a common practice for the two to help each other before matches by sharing intel on opponents, so it wasn't like Rachel had gone out of her way to tell Brittany how to defeat Quinn. So why did she feel like there was a hand squeezing her heart?

She made it to foyer just in time to see Brittany raising her hands in the air to acknowledge the applause of the crowd on Center Court. The television kept cutting between visuals of the crowd on their feet, Ken Tanaka pumping his fist with joy and Brittany savouring the biggest win of her career.

A sudden hush descended on the main foyer of the Wimbledon clubhouse as a burly security guard came around the corner and cleared the way. Seconds later Quinn came into sight, a Wimbledon towel looped around her drooping shoulders and her kit bag slung across her back. The blonde stared at the ground as she walked, her face expressionless.

Rachel watched her, silently willing the World No. 1 to look up and see her. She was left disappointed when Quinn walked up the stairs and out of sight.


	18. Chapter 18

**First of all, oh my god! I have 190 followers. You guys have no idea how happy that makes me! So thank you, to all you followers/reviewers, who have brought me so much joy with a simple click of the button. It encourages me to keep making you happy.**

**To everyone that has written me feedback or dropped me a PM, thank you. I'll be replying to you all shortly. But can I just say, I'm glad that most of you are enjoying the slow burn, and the pace. To be honest, I don't really think of it as a slow-building Faberry story. To me it's a story about a young woman's life, about what she does, her likes, dislikes, and how she falls in love with someone. All the aspects of my protagonist's life as just as important to me as her relationship with Quinn. So if you're looking for a story where two women fall passionately in love and lose focus on every other aspect of their lives, I suggest you walk away before it's too late. **

**And with that, let's move on to the update :) I think Faberry fans will call this one a step in a promising direction!**

The taxi pulled up and Rachel stepped out, fondly glancing up at the familiar house. Opening the little gate, she stepped up to the teal-coloured door and gave it three hard raps. Moments later she heard the distinct sound of footsteps coming her way, and the door opened to reveal the smiling face of her friend's mother.

"Rachel!"

"Hi Whitney", the brunette smiled, before she was pulled into a bone-crushing hug. She managed to choke out a "Can't…breath", and took a deep breath when she was immediately released.

"Sorry sweetheart" the older lady apologized while beckoning Rachel to come inside. "It's just been so long since I've seen you. In person, I mean. Pierce and I have been watching all your matches on the tele. We're so proud of you!"

"Thanks Whitney. It means a lot coming from you" Rachel smiled.

And she meant it. The American had lived with Brittany's family when she'd come to train in the UK at the age of thirteen, as part of a deal between the United States Tennis Association and the UK's Lawn Tennis Association. Rachel had spent six months under Whitney and Pierce's care, and had formed a close relationship with the entire family, which was still as strong to this day. In fact, Rachel had also lived with the family when she had traveled to London to compete in the Girls' Singles tournaments at Wimbledon in 2010 and 2011, and it actually felt weird not to be living in the quaint Earl's Court home on this trip too.

"Where's Pierce?" Rachel asked, as the two women stepped into the living room.

"In the shower. He better hurry though. I'd rather avoid keeping your father's waiting" Whitney answered, looking at the clock on the wall as she answered.

Like Rachel had lived with the Pierce's, Brittany had lived with the Berry's when she came to New York to train on the hard courts of the Billie Jean King National Tennis Center for half a year. The young Englishwoman also crashed with Rachel's family when she played the Girls' Singles tournaments at the US Open the last two years, and both sets of parents had finally met when Whitney and Pierce had accompanied her to the Big Apple in 2011. It wasn't a surprise when the Pierce and Berry parents had gotten along like a house on fire.

"Well, they hadn't even showered when I left, so I hope _they_ don't keep _you_ waiting" the American said, trying to alleviate her former host's stress levels.

Whitney rolled her eyes, "And they say us women take forever to leave the house. I'm going to go drag his cute butt out of the shower. I trust you remember the way to Brittany's room?"

"Do you really need to ask?" Rachel laughed, receiving a pat on her shoulder as she turned to walk down the hall.

"Oh Rachel?", Whitney called out, stopping the brunette in her tracks. She turned around to look at the tall blonde, "In case we don't get to see you before the match tomorrow, good luck. We'll be in the box with your dad's."

"Thank you" Rachel said, before taking a deep breath. "I still can't believe I'm in the quarterfinals at _Wimbledon_. It hasn't quite sunk in yet, and then when I do think about it, I start stressing."

"Yeah, Brit's the same, so I'll tell you the same thing I've been telling her all day; Go out there, play your best tennis, and try your bloody hardest to win. But don't forget to _savour_ the occasion, and _enjoy_ yourself while you're out there on Center Court" Whitney said, looking Rachel dead in the eye.

"I'll try" the brunette responded honestly, nodding her head. "I'm guessing today was your idea then?"

"Of course. I _am_ the brains in the family" Whitney winked. "Now, go have a fun evening" and with that, she sauntered off.

"Yes ma'am" Rachel called out, once again taking off in the direction of her friend's room. The brunette came upon the closed door, and was about to pull it open when she stopped at the sound of voices she couldn't quite place. '_I thought I was going to be the only one here_' she thought, knocking on the door.

The young American heard Brittany's voice excitedly squeal "Rach's here!", followed by the sound of padded footsteps heading her way. The door opened, and Rachel briefly thought that her blonde friend looked decidedly too excited to see her, especially when you took into account the fact that they'd trained together mere hours earlier. And then the brunette looked past her British friend to see a familiar pair of hazel eyes smiling at her. She was so stunned by the unexpected sight that she almost missed the Latina, who looked almost feline as she lounged around on Brittany's bed.

"Quinn?" Rachel asked, checking to make sure she wasn't imagining things, and feeling a sense of relief washing over her when said blonde nodded. The brunette continued to gaze at the tennis star, who she was glad to see looked better rested than she had the last time she'd caught a glimpse of her at the Wimbledon club house. No, she wasn't her usual fresh-faced self, but Rachel was appeased to see that she also didn't look like she hadn't slept for the last week.

"And Santana. But yeah, glad to see you too Berry", the Latina stated, interrupting the short-lived stare fest. The amusement in the Spaniard's features didn't match the annoyance in her voice so Rachel didn't think she'd actually offended the other woman, who received a quick wave from the shorter brunette.

Brittany closed the door behind her, "Sanny texted after we spoke Rach, and I asked her over. And then she said Quinn was with her, so I asked her over too. I hope you don't mind?"

Rachel took a moment to respond, but not because she was mad. '_Sanny?_' she thought. Santana didn't seem the kind of person to let someone give her such a saccharine nickname, which might explain why the Latina was now studiously inspecting her nails.

"Of course not, Brit. The more the merrier, right?" Rachel said, which caused her old friend's face to break into an impossibly wide smile before she skipped over to the bed and settled down next to Santana.

Rachel approached the bed too and settled down on the edge, facing Quinn, who was seated in an armchair against one of the walls, "I thought you'd left London?"

"Never seen a human hologram before Berry?" Santana asked, receiving a glare from Rachel.

"Shut up, _Sanny_" Quinn said, her emphasis on the nickname not enough to alert Brittany's attention, but sufficient enough to end any sardonic comebacks from the Latina. Quinn looked back at Rachel, "And no, I didn't leave London, despite anything the press might believe."

Rachel was confused since she clearly recalled watching the evening news on Sunday night where visuals of a parked private jet accompanied a piece reporting that Quinn Fabray had left London on Sunday night after her shock defeat in the second round of Wimbledon. The brunette remembered feeling the slight pang of something she couldn't quite place as she wondered why Quinn hadn't told her she was leaving in the few texts that they had exchanged over the previous days. The two women had continued to text after that as well, and Rachel had resisted the urge to ask the blonde where she was.

Her expression must have been a dead giveaway, because Quinn further explained, "My PR team set it up so it _looked_ like I had left London. It was actually my team that caught the plane, and they're currently enjoying a few days of sun in Ibiza. The way I see it, the paparazzi won't be looking for me here, so I should get a few days of peace."

"You're welcome" Santana piped up, which made Quinn roll her eyes.

"The idea came from the ever-modest Santana", she added.

"I think it was a brilliant idea!" Brittany said, and Rachel could have sworn that the Latina's features softened as she looked at the tall blonde. She chanced a look at Quinn, who also seemed to be observing the interaction between the two women with interest.

"So, do you ladies actually have a plan for today?" Santana asked.

"We usually just hang out, maybe watch a movie or two" Brittany answered.

"I was thinking of maybe doing some opposition research for my next match, but that's probably a no-go now" Rachel added, before smirking, "Unless, of course, you want to help."

She felt very proud of herself when the sound of Quinn's melodious laugh reached her ears, even as Santana replied, "Nice try Berry. But it ain't gonna happen."

Brittany laughed too, "You two are silly. But hey! Since there's four of us, how about we play a board game?"

"Works for me" Santana said. Quinn shrugged and Rachel nodded, so the Latina asked, "What have you got?"

Brittany stood up and walked to a shelf in the corner of the room, "Monopoly, Ticket To Ride, Cluedo, Taboo, Scrabble-"

"S can't spell, so no Scrabble" Quinn quipped.

"I don't need to be able to spell for you to understand this" the Spaniard bit back, giving Quinn the finger. The blonde laughed out loud, clearly pleased that she'd managed to irritate her friend.

"What else, Brit?" Rachel asked.

The Englishwoman moved a few boxes around, "Um, Kranium, Balderdash, Othello… and Articulate".

"Ooh! Articulate!" Rachel said excitedly.

"Fine by me" Quinn said, seconding Rachel's choice.

The Latina shrugged, indicating that she was ok with the game too, but threw in a "Figures that you'd like a game where you have to talk a lot", which earned another glare from Rachel.

"I can see why you'd think that would offend me _Sanny_, but I actually take pride in the fact that I'm more eloquent than most people" Rachel replied.

"I like it too, Rach" Brittany piped up as she set the board game down on the bed, unwittingly ending the counter argument Santana was about to propose. "I always learn something new from you. It's kinda cool."

"Thanks Brit" Rachel said, smiling affectionately at her friend. The quartet's attention was diverted to the door as it was pulled open, and a man walked in.

"Rachel!" he said, hugging the brunette when she rose to meet him.

"Hi Pierce", she smiled.

Brittany's father stepped back to take a good look at the American, "I swear you grow more beautiful every time I see you. I'll bet you have the boys lining up" he beamed.

Rachel blushed, and opened her mouth to say something when Whitney called out from a distance "Pierce! We're going to be late! Let's go!"

"I'd better leave before the old ball and chain gets mad" Pierce said, looking mock-scared. "We should be back in a couple of hours. We'll call on our way back, so you're ready to leave with your dad's, ok?" Rachel nodded as Pierce kissed his daughter on the cheek before rushing out the door.

Whitney's voice floated into the room again "There are plenty of snacks in the kitchen girls, so help yourselves. Bye!" The sound of a door opening and closing indicated that the Pierce's had indeed left the building.

"So" Quinn spoke up, her tone tentative, "your father's name is Pierce Pierce?"

Brittany nodded, "Yes. And mine is Brittany Susan Pierce. So, Brittany S. Pierce."

There was stunned silence in the room after her declaration, with Santana looking like she was trying to decide whether or not the blonde was kidding, and the corners of Quinn's mouth quivering. "You _are_ allowed to laugh, you know" the young Brit deadpanned, and Rachel thought the unladylike snort Quinn let out as soon as she said the words was beyond adorable. It took minutes for the laughter to subside, and by the end of it Santana was actually lying down on the bed, clutching a stitch in her side.

"God, I really needed that laugh" Quinn finally said, wiping tears from her eyes.

"Yeah, real mature guys" Brittany said, although she didn't look mad. "So, does everyone know how to play Articulate?"

"Mmm, it's been a while. I could use a brush up on the rules" Quinn said, eyeing the board game.

"What about you, Sanny?" their blonde host asked.

"My sister made me play it a _lot_ over the end of season break. Trust me, I know all the rules. And more than half the cards, so watch out ya'll" the Latina said, waggling her finger at the other three.

"Alright, Rach, how about you and Quinn set up, while I grab some snacks? You can explain the rules as you set up. And Sanny can help me in the kitchen" Brittany said, looking at Santana, who nodded and rose to follow her out the room. The door closed behind the pair, leaving Rachel alone with Quinn.

The two American's were silent for a couple of moments, until Rachel said, "So, I'm no expert on nickname's, but Santana is definitely not a _Sanny_".

Her statement caused Quinn to let out her second snort of the day, which made Rachel's own face break out into a shit-eating grin. "Her sister Alma actually calls her that too. But I always figured she only got away with it because Ally's nine years younger than S. So yeah, I'm as surprised as you that Santana's actually letting Brittany call her that. Which leads me to believe that I should do my duty as a best friend, and ask you if Brittany is a. seeing anyone, and b. even interested in the ladies."

'_As I suspected'_ Rachel thought, lifting the lid off the box containing the board game. Instead of answering Quinn's question, she countered with one of her own, "Well, as _Brittany's_ best friend, shouldn't I be checking if Santana is available first? I thought she was dating that Disney protégé-turned-pop star?"

Quinn shook her head, opening the clear plastic zip lock bag that contained Articulate's four playing pieces, spinner and timer, "That ended in January. The press hasn't really caught on yet, since it was more-or-less just a long distance relationship. I actually think they only spent two weeks _together_ together in the nine months they "dated"".

"Oh wow, ok" Rachel said, laying the circular playing board in the center of the bed, and reaching for the small box of playing cards, "In that case, the answer to your questions is no, and yes. And just between you and me, Brit seems to be pretty enamoured by Santana too. But you didn't hear that from me."

"Hear what?" Quinn asked, her expression innocent.

"I like the way you think, Fabray" Rachel grinned, shuffling the cards in her hand. "Ok, so the rules…" she began, quickly reminding her fellow tennis player of how to play the fast-talking game. It all came back to Quinn pretty fast.

They sat in silence for a few seconds, and this time it was Quinn that spoke first, "I'm sorry for disappearing on you a little bit this past week-"

Rachel stopped her right there, "Oh, don't be silly Quinn! You have nothing to apologize for!"

The blonde shrugged, "No, let me. I saw all the text's you sent, and I want you to know that I appreciated each and every one of them. I just… didn't really know what to say a lot of the time."

"I'm just glad that you're ok" Rachel said, then paused, "Are you? I mean, ok?"

Quinn took a deep breath, and looked to be really considering the question, "I'm not _not_ ok. It hasn't been easy, but I'm dealing. And I think crashing with Santana for a few days is exactly what I need. You know, time away from this mess and the people involved in it."

Rachel refrained from reaching out to place a consoling arm on her friend's shoulder. She took in the resolved look on Quinn's face, and quietly marveled at the inner strength the World No. 1 already possessed at the age of twenty-one. "If you don't mind me asking, what is going on? Are you in trouble?"

"Me, personally?" Quinn asked, looking for clarification that Rachel provided with a nod, "No. As you might have heard, Dad's been charged, but he's under house arrest at home in Miami. Well, at least till the trial's over. I met some IRS officials on the morning of my match against Brittany, and to be honest, they've been really nice to me. From what I understand, they're going to press for a jail sentence for Dad. In which case, he'll be transferred to a state prison."

"And you believe the charges are true?" Rachel asked.

"Unfortunately, yes" Quinn answered, a look of distaste on her features. "I'm so, so mad at my father. But it still kills me to picture him behind bars."

"Is there another alternative? Besides jail, I mean?" the brunette pressed, her curiosity not satisfied.

"The men from the IRS told me that they could ask for a fine instead of a jail sentence, but they aren't going to. They know that the money for the fine would come from me, not Dad. So instead, they're going to use him to set an example, I suppose" Quinn answered.

Rachel stayed silent, any questions she had now answered. So she was surprised when Quinn continued after a few moments pause, "The press doesn't have the actual figure yet. It's $4.3 million. Ironically enough, Dad got his way, and I don't have to pay it. So I'm going to donate it to charity. But I don't want the world to know. This is for me."

This time Rachel wasn't going to stop herself from physically comforting the blonde, and she was just about to raise her hand to rest it on her arm when the door swung open. "You better not have been telling Berry how to beat me tomorrow" Santana declared as she marched in carrying a steaming bowl of popcorn.

Quinn looked at Rachel, "Attack her backhand. And keep her pinned at least a meter behind the baseline."

"My best friend, ladies and gentlemen" Santana said dramatically, placing the bowl down next to the playing board.

"Stop being such a drama queen" Quinn laughed, "Half the tour has the same plan to beat you when they come on court. There are no secrets in the age of YouTube and video replays."

"Touché" Santana conceded.

Quinn stage whispered to Rachel, "Plus I'm actually rooting for you. Santana will take over as the World No.1 if she wins the tournament. And then she'll never stop bragging about it, lord help us all."

Rachel burst out laughing when Santana let out an indignant huff, "It's only a matter of time Q, only a matter of time" the Latina said.

The trio looked up when Brittany walked in carrying a tray bearing two teapots and four cups. "I made green tea and jasmine tea. I hope that's ok with everyone?", the tall blonde asked.

"Thanks Brit" Rachel said, and Quinn 'hmm-ed' beside her.

"Yeah, thanks B. Right, so, teams. I refuse to play with these two" the Latina said, pointing at Rachel and Quinn.

"Ok" Brittany agreed, placing the tray down on a small table. "Sanny and I, versus you two?"

Rachel looked at Quinn, who nodded. "You're on! Team America is going to take you down" the brunette proclaimed. She heard a giggle beside her, and turned to meet Quinn's gaze.

"Dork" the blonde said, her tone affectionate. Rachel smiled back at her.

Santana cleared her throat loudly, and Rachel looked up to see Brittany staring at her intently. The Englishwoman opened her mouth to say something, but then seemed to think better of it. Rachel looked at her curiously, wondering what her friend was going to say.

"Ready to put your money where your mouth is, Berry?", Santana asked, her tone challenging.

Rachel pretended to look around, "Wait, where are the tissues? Sanny's going to need them to dry her tears later on". Her overacting made Quinn laugh again, and Rachel's heart leapt as the soft sound met her ears.

She turned to wink at Quinn, her worries about the quarterfinals far from her mind.


	19. Chapter 19

**Hello faithful readers! Allow me to begin by apologising for not updating last week. My laptop died, and had to go to the good doctor's at the Apple Store for fixing. We were reunited yesterday, so this update comes to you as quickly as I could get it out! I have made this chapter extra long, as a thank you to everyone that wrote me, asking me if I was ok and telling me that they missed my story! Great for my writer's ego!**

**The match is inspired by actual incidents that have taken place in real life tennis. Some of you might even be able to pick the incident.**

**I will respond to feedback and reviews soon. As always, thank you to everyone that has dropped me a line, or followed/favourited either myself or my story. I should be back to my Thursday/Friday update schedule from next week. Oh, and please point out any grammatical/factual errors, and I'll fix them!**

**Now, on with the story!**

_6:30 a.m._

Rachel woke with a start, her heart pounding behind her ribcage. The last vestiges of her dream were slowly getting away from her, but some details were still starkly clear; She was on Center Court, but instead of the traditional white she was clad in a deep red dress that was better suited to a night out than Wimbledon's hallowed courts. Santana was standing across the net, yelling out sentences like "It's the capital of my country" and "Hurry up, time's running out", while tennis balls whizzed past Rachel in a blur of bright yellow. The analytical part of Rachel's mind knew that the Spaniard's seemingly random words were almost certainly brought on by the very excitable game of Articulate that had been played at Brittany's house the previous evening. But what really, _really_ threw the still-groggy American was the appearance of Quinn Fabray. In the chair umpire's seat, of all places. The World No. 1 was seated in the lifeguard-esque high chair, a bouquet of flowers not unlike the one she'd had delivered to Rachel in Paris placed in her lap. Photographers and journalists seated courtside were calling out Quinn's name but dream-Quinn's intense gaze was focused on Rachel herself, an almost mysterious smile upon her pink lips.

The young brunette blinked slowly before glancing at the alarm clock on her bedside table. The alarm hadn't gone off yet, so in all probability it was Rachel's body clock that was to blame for her conscious state. '_Or the strangeness of that dream…_' she thought, yawning up at the ceiling.

Rachel's mind was almost completely defogged by this point. The New Yorker had always been an early riser and on any other day she would be out on the tennis court by 8:00 a.m. Today was different though.

Today Rachel was competing in her first Ladies Single's quarterfinal at The Wimbledon Championships. She would be competing against the World No. 2 Santana Lopez in a match that had been scheduled for 2 p.m. on No. 1 Court. Under any other circumstances Santana's ranking would have guaranteed her a spot on Wimbledon's premier court, but Brittany being a local had justified the Englishwoman's match against the World No. 4 Marley Rose being scheduled on Centre Court.

So while under normal circumstances Rachel would have probably been eating breakfast by now, today she lay in bed, willing her body to go back to sleep. Her alarm was set for 8:45 a.m., the extra hours of shuteye thrown in to make up for the nap that she almost always took right after lunch.

Rachel closed her eyes, making a conscious effort not to think about the uphill task that lay ahead of her that afternoon. She focused on her other senses, her ears straining to hear anything besides the pin-drop silence in the apartment. The brunette was unsurprised by the deathly silence, knowing that her father's slept in whenever they got the chance. The absence of any food smells from the kitchen was another indicator that her dad's were still tucked into their warm bed. She didn't blame them; Leroy and Hiram lived busy lives back home and, when it came down to it, this trip _was_ a vacation for them. '_Even if they're here to witness the biggest moment of my career so far…_'

Realizing that she had begun to restlessly wiggle her bog toes, Rachel took a deep, calming breath and pushed thoughts of the tournament from her mind again. She successfully managed to keep a blank-state-of-mind for about ten whole seconds before an image of dream-Quinn took front and center in her thoughts. Rachel's mind zoomed in and focused on the blonde's face, almost as if she were watching a movie, and the teenager absentmindedly acknowledged that the top-ranked tennis player looked absolutely stunning in this figment of her imagination. She was honestly quite surprised at the level of detail with which she recalled her friend's features, down to the specks of gold in her green, no, hazel eyes.

Quinn's secretive smile was the last thing Rachel recalled seeing as she drifted back to sleep.

_9:30 a.m._

Rachel walked out of the bathroom after finishing her shower, and lifted her phone off the dresser. She had a few notifications, a couple of texts and a missed call alert. '_Gosh, I was hardly in there for ten minutes'_ she thought, clicking on her call logs and seeing that the call she had missed was from Quinn. The brunette felt a wave of disappointment wash over her, but was slightly pacified by the fact that the blonde had left her a voice mail message. Rachel brought the phone to her ear, and found herself smiling when Quinn's husky voice began to speak.

"_Hey Rach. I was just calling to wish you luck today. So, uh, good luck! And, yeah… I'll speak to you later. Alright then, bye!_"

Rachel smiled as the message finished playing and moved the phone away from her ear. Her mind briefly returned to her dream, the details of which were even sketchier now. Rachel, for the life of her, couldn't fathom what Quinn was doing sitting in the umpire's chair. She thought about it some more as she flicked through her other notifications, and the best theory she could come up with was that her subconscious was curious about whom the World No. 1 would be rooting for today. It was an open secret that Quinn and Santana were as thick as thieves, but Rachel wanted to believe that the blonde was also genuine in her support for her fellow American.

A knock on the door brought Rachel back to the present. "It's open" she called out, locking her phone screen and pocketing the device before picking up her hairbrush from the dresser.

Hiram walked in, "Hey sweetheart, your car should be here soon."

Rachel nodded, "Thanks Daddy. I'm good to go when it gets here."

"Are you sure you don't want us to come with? Your Papa and I can always do Madame Tussauds another day," Hiram said, sitting on her bed.

Rachel addressed his reflection in the mirror, "No thankyou, Daddy. Just make sure you're on time to the match! And don't forget to take that picture" she winked.

Hiram crossed his heart, a solemn look on his face "We'll head straight for Barbara Streisand the minute we get in. Scout's honour!"

The teenager giggled at her father's silliness and the corners of Hiram's eyes crinkled as he joined in his daughter's laughter. Their little moment was interrupted by the intercom ringing.

"That must be your ride" Hiram said, rising to get it.

_11:30 a.m._

Rachel didn't quite know how to react when the gathered crowd began clapping when she stepped onto the practice court. The young brunette was used to people cheering at the sight of her coach, but this was the first time they were clapping for _her_. She turned to look at her celebrated mentor, who shrugged at Rachel as if to say '_This is your moment_', before awkwardly raising her hand to acknowledge the applause. Her gesture only led to a fresh round of applause, and Rachel flushed as she began a brief warm-up under Shelby's watchful gaze.

Brittany and her coach Ken Tanaka joined the pair soon after, prompting the audience to break into a fresh round of applause. Rachel noticed that the ovation for the local favourite was positively deafening but she didn't rue her friend the adulation of the gathered crowd. If anything, Rachel felt her heart swell with pride at the knowledge that she and Brittany were actually playing at a level that they had both dreamed about for so long now. Over the years the two best friends had fantasized about one day competing against each another for the Wimbledon title, and Rachel could hardly believe that all they needed right now was two more wins each to make that dream a reality.

Brittany shared Rachel's ecstasy if the elated look in her eyes and her infectiously wide grin were anything to go by. The tall blonde also seemed to handle the attention better, practically doing a pirouette as she twirled around to wave in every direction. It was easy to see why she had turned into such a fan favourite over the course of these championships. The local press had even dubbed her 'The Brit', and Rachel thought the nickname that cheekily referenced both her name and her nationality was genius. In her opinion, it was definitely going to stick.

The tall Englishwoman approached Rachel who was almost done with her warm-up, and the two women's hands met in an arm wrestle handshake. "Sleep well?" Brittany asked, and smiled when Rachel just shrugged in response, "Yeah, me too."

Instead of beginning her warm-up, the blonde followed Rachel back to her chair where the American took a quick drink of water. "Ken wants me to work on my backhands down-the-line today. The game plan is to try and open up the court and go for winners when I get the chance" Brittany said, not too loudly.

Rachel nodded as she gulped her drink, and screwed the lid back onto the bottle. Marley Rose was one of the best movers in tennis and her game was at its optimum on grass, where her ability to quickly accelerate made drop shots a no-go zone for opponents. "You're going to try to hit through her" she stated, and Brittany nodded in agreement.

"How about you? Ready for Santana?" Brittany asked. Rachel noted that she'd refrained from calling the Latina by the sickly sweet nickname she'd come up with yesterday. The American wasn't surprised; While Brittany was all sunshine and daisies most of the time, the woman was as focused as they came when she was in the zone for a match.

"As prepared as I can be, I think. I'll be hitting to your forehand a lot today, you know, to try and get ready to attack Santana's backhand. Just let me know when you want to do your backhand's down-the-line block, and I'll hit it there" Rachel answered.

Brittany looked thoughtful, "Also remember to play her deep. It'll be very hard to beat her if you let her inside the baseline". Rachel bobbed her head, briefly thinking back to how Quinn, and later even Shelby, had given her the same advice. "Thanks Brit" she smiled, pleased in the knowledge that while her friend had an obvious romantic interest in the World No. 2, she was still in her corner.

"Ok, I'm gonna go stretch" Brittany said, her sunny disposition back in place as she bounced off to where Shelby and Ken were amiably chatting.

Rachel bent down to pull a racket out of her bag. Shelby approached her just as she'd taken the newly strung Babolat out of its clear poly racket bag and was testing its tension against the palm of her left hand. "I've asked Ken to have a quick hit with you near the end. No holds barred", the older brunette said. Her young charge took a deep breath, a look of determination crossing her features as she gave her coach a quick nod. Shelby smiled, "Alright Berry, it's a beautiful day to play tennis, so get your butt to the service line."

_1:15 p.m._

The room was silent when Rachel returned from having her hair braided at the salon in the player's complex, a soft clacking sound the only thing to break the stillness. She turned the corner, and was met with the sight of Santana Lopez, head bowed, a collection of rackets placed on either side of her on the bench. The Latina was winding a grip around the racket in her hands, and didn't look up even as she acknowledged Rachel's presence with a quiet "Berry."

Rachel replied, "Lopez", realizing it was the racket head that was making the clacking sound every time it made light contact with the bench. Santana finished applying the grip to the racket, placed it on top of the pile to her left, and picked up a racket from the pile to her right to repeat the process. The American watched her for a few more beats, her eyes tracking the movements of one of Santana's famed pre-match rituals. The Spaniard's need to do things in a precise order, both before a match as well as on court, had been covered in great detail by the press, and her set ways were almost a thing of legend in the tennis world.

The American silently made her way over to her own locker, thinking that the stillness of the locker-room was a complete contrast to it's state just a week ago. Back then most of the one-hundred-and-twenty-eight women competing in the Ladies Singles tournament were still around, as were the competitors participating in the Ladies doubles, the Mixed Doubles, the Girls' singles and doubles, and the Wheelchair singles and doubles. And of course, many of the Legends were also around for their quasi-exhibition like matches that were a good way for tennis fan's to see some of the game's greats in action on Wimbledon's outer courts. The locker room was abuzz with conversation, music and random noises when the number of women frequenting it amounted to a few hundred. Now, it seemed more like a place of quiet meditation.

Rachel reached her locker, running a reverent hand over the plaque bearing her name before pulling it open. The first thing she saw was the newspaper that she had thrown in there after her second round win with an intention of reading the article about Russell Fabray later on. The brunette still hadn't gotten around to perusing the daily, and now was obviously not the time to fix that. She moved the newspaper to the side, and pulled out the neatly folded Adidas dress she intended to wear today, along with a pair of wristbands, compression shorts and shoes. After thinking about it for a moment Rachel added a white Adidas visor to the collection of things in her arms, figuring it would be best to have one on her if the sunny British weather bothered her at any point during the match.

Brittany was in the locker room when Rachel returned from getting changed, stretching in front of her locker. Besides practicing together the two had also eaten lunch with each other, and were joined by Hiram, Leroy, Whitney, Pierce and Ken in the Player's Dining Area while Shelby went off to play a Legend's Doubles match alongside Sue Sylvester. The Brit smiled at her shorter friend while stretching out her hamstring, but no words were exchanged between the pair. Santana had disappeared somewhere, and there was still no sign of Marley Rose as far as Rachel could tell.

The young American began her own pre-match warm-up and stretch, positioning herself in front of the wall of TV screens in the far end of the room. The match out on No. 1 Court seemed to be a cracker, with Asami Sato and Kitty Wilde locked at one set apiece. The third set was just about to begin, and Rachel calculated that it would be at least half-an-hour before the match between the Canadian star and the Japanese up-and-comer concluded. The third-seeded Frenchwoman Fleur Delacour seemed to be making easier work of Lily Chan out on Center Court, and was almost certain to be across the net from the winner of Rachel and Santana's match in the next round. Brittany's match was next on that court, and it looked like that match would begin as scheduled at 2 p.m.

Rachel looked up when Marley finally entered the locker room, seemingly fully changed and ready for her match. She came to a stop beside Rachel, her eyes on the screens before them. "Hey Rachel" she said, quickly glancing at her fellow Yank, "good luck today."

"You too Marley" Rachel smiled, doing quick rotations of her shoulder joints.

The TV coverage on Center Court cut to a mid shot of the French third-seed and a caption appeared on screen: 'Fleur Delacour - Serving for Match'. "That's probably my cue" Marley said, almost to herself, before marching off towards the lockers. As if on cue, a tournament handler entered the locker room and came to a halt near the first row of lockers. Rachel glanced at her, taking in the sight of the earpiece and the walkie-talkie in the woman's hand, before looking back at the screens and starting on her triceps stretches.

A few moments later, the tournament handler mouthed a quick "Copy that" into her walkie-talkie a couple of seconds before Fleur Delacour put an easy forehand volley away to win the match. '_Broadcast delay_' Rachel observed, and listened in as the woman give Brittany and Marley a five-minute notice. The brunette turned her attention to the match on No. 1 Court, where Wilde and Sato were on serve at 2-1. '_Hurry up_', she thought, silently willing the two women to play quicker. The nerves were starting to set in again.

_3:13 p.m._

"Two minutes" the chair umpire stated.

Rachel raised her hand, letting Santana know she was done. The Latina didn't acknowledge the American's gesture, and simply got into position to serve as Rachel made her way to her chair and sat down. She took a big swig of water before screwing the lid back on to the bottle and taking a big drink of her Gatorade mix. She glanced at her box as she screwed the lid back on to the second bottle and locked gazes with Shelby, who nodded approvingly. Both Rachel and her coach expected today's match to be very physical, and Shelby had been insistent that Rachel stay hydrated from the beginning.

The young brunette's gaze flicked to the side, where her father's were seated. Hiram seemed to be engrossed in the official 2012 tournament guide while the lens of Leroy's DSLR was aimed at a point somewhere high above his daughter. Her parents had been there for all five of her matches at Wimbledon this year, and Rachel admittedly loved seeing them in her box. Her mind briefly wandered to Whitney Pierce, who had hoped to be in Rachel's box too until the tournament scheduler had thrown a spanner in the works by having Brittany play simultaneously on another court.

Rachel was brought back to the present when Santana entered her peripheral vision and took a seat in her own chair. The Latina had carefully lined up her drink bottles just so upon first entering the arena, spending extra seconds making sure they were perfectly aligned. In fact, Rachel and the chair umpire were made to wait for the toss, which had prompted a faceless member of the audience to shout out a rude "Oh, get on with it!", which in turn had led to an almost unanimous burst of laughter coming forth from the crowd. If Santana had heard the call, and no, it wasn't possible for her to have missed it, she didn't let it show. The Spaniard spent a few more seconds positioning the bottle before she'd come to the net. Not that Rachel was counting or anything.

"One minute" the chair umpire announced. Rachel peeled open a banana, and took a small bite. She glanced at Santana again, and this time the Spaniard was staring straight ahead, her legs bouncing up and down. '_Maybe I'm not the only one with jitters_', Rachel thought.

_3:41 p.m._

Santana let out a frustrated cry, her scream almost drowning out the linesman's call of "Out!" The Latina's outward display of annoyance prompted the audience to clap even louder, or so it seemed to Rachel, who reached out her hand for her towel as she walked to her seat.

"Game, Ms. Berry. Ms. Berry leads 4-1" the chair umpire stated for the record.

Rachel sat down, immediately reaching for her recovery drink. She had broken Santana in her last service game and consolidated the break by holding her own serve in the following game. Their rallies seemed to be taking exceptionally long, with both players going toe-to-toe on the big shots and not really allowing the other to approach the net, but right now it looked like Rachel's strategy of pushing Santana far back and attacking her backhand was yielding the desired results for the American. She glanced up at her box where Shelby pumped her fist when she caught Rachel looking. Yes, things were going to plan.

It took Rachel a second to pick what was different when she lined up to receive serve after the change of ends. '_She's put glasses on_' she realized, her brow furrowing at the sight, '_why_?'. The Latina had had obvious issues with her ball toss in her previous service game, but Rachel had thought her minor issues had more to do with the breeze than anything else.

The teenager crouched down to return serve, waiting patiently while Santana went through the motions of her pre-serve ritual that included a few hops, some brow wiping and almost a dozen ball bounces. And then Rachel realized why Santana had put the glasses on.

Her doubts were confirmed when the ball whizzed past her seconds later, giving Santana a free point.

"15-0" the chair umpire announced. The competitors shuffled over to the ad-court sides of the playing rectangle.

Rachel looked across the net again, trying to catch a glimpse of Santana's eyes behind her glasses. The Oakley lenses were made of a reflective surface, rendering the younger brunette's search pointless. The Spaniard sent another serve her way, this one straight at her body. Rachel managed to twist out of the way in time, and sent a cracking backhand return right to the Latina's feet as she attempted to come in to volley. The best the World No. 2 could manage was a half-volley that hit the middle of the net.

"15-all." Applause.

Santana beckoned for her towel, giving Rachel a moment to herself. The American was only just realizing how much she'd been subconsciously depending on being able to read the Latina's serve before it actually came her way. Almost every tennis player has a service "tell"; some toss the ball a particular way before certain serves, some angle their bodies just so to be able to meet the ball at the desired incline. Santana, Rachel had noticed while training with her last week, glanced at the spot where she intended to serve right before she tossed the ball up. The giveaway was a God-sent, especially considering the power Santana generated when her racket met the ball. Now the tell was gone and Rachel would have to rely on good old guesswork and gut instincts.

Rachel felt like a spectator as Santana sent a monstrous flat serve down the T. "30-15."

Two points later, Santana ended the game with her third ace in the space of three minutes. "Game, Ms. Lopez. Ms. Berry leads, 4-2."

Rachel turned around, resisting the urge to look up at her box. She took a deep, calming breath, adjusting the strings of her racket as the applause around her died down. '_Ok, all you need to do is hold your serve. Hold your serve two more times, win this set, and we'll cross the next bridge when we get to it. Hold your serve. Focus on your own strengths. Hold your serve._'

Looking up, the brunette nodded at the young ball girl who was patiently waiting with her arm raised. Two balls bounced her way.

_4:52 p.m._

The crowd booed, reminding Rachel of just how volatile tennis audiences could be sometimes. The same people that were jeering at Santana for taking too long between points were now catcalling the umpire for giving the Latina a time violation warning. The Spaniard hadn't been docked an actual point yet, but would be if she continued to take longer than twenty seconds between points on her serve.

Even Rachel had to admit that the umpire's own timing couldn't have been worse. Santana had been serving more or less this slowly from the very beginning of the match so why wait till the second set tiebreaker to give her a warning? The American glanced at the Latina, who appeared to be fuming. '_Don't let this distract you_' Rachel thought, trying to refocus her thoughts on the task at hand. She quickly scanned the scoreboard, taking comfort in the physical reminder that that she was a set ahead with the second set tie-breaker balanced at 5-5.

Santana tossed the ball up and sent a powerful serve Rachel's way. It made a loud thwack as it met the net, prompting a linesman to call out "Fault!" The young brunette watched as her opponent took a moment to give the chair umpire a scathing look, instead of immediately getting into position to serve again. The World No. 2 was clearly still thinking about the warning she had received. The chair umpire looked nonplussed. It was almost like a television drama. Rachel reminded herself to concentrate on her own game.

The Latina bounced the ball a few times, her actions slow and deliberate. A part of Rachel wondered if she was intentionally trying to test the chair umpire's patience. Santana bounced the ball one last time, paused, tossed it up, and met the orb with the middle of her racket. _Crack!_

"Foot fault!"

The crowd gasped, almost as if it was one very loud and extremely scandalised person. Santana gave her box an incredulous look and then stormed off to the linesman, where she proceeded to loudly question his judgment and integrity.

"6-5, Ms. Berry" the chair umpire announced, "Quiet please. Play to continue."

By now Santana was speaking in rapidfire Spanish, ignoring the umpire's request for her to play on. The lady in charge climbed down from her chair and walked over to the tennis star, who was still arguing with the linesman. Rachel slowly approached the net and stopped with her hands resting on top of the net cord. She could hear the chair umpire trying to pacify the irate player, while still standing by her fellow official's call. '_This is insane_' Rachel thought.

Suddenly Santana stopped arguing and, blatantly ignoring the chair umpire, locked gazes with Rachel. She stared at the American for a moment before turning to walk to the service line. "Let's do this, Berry" she called out over her shoulder. The chair umpire stared at her turned back before shrugging and heading back to her own seat.

"Quiet please" she said, once seated. "Thank you. 6-5, Ms. Berry to serve."

And that's when it hit home. '_I'm serving for match_' Rachel thought, her heart beginning to beat erratically. The fact had been completely lost on her while she'd watched the madness of the last few minutes unfold. She bounced the ball, once, twice, thrice, before gripping it in her left palm and bringing it to rest on the strings of her racket. Her stomach felt like butterfly central and a wave of nausea washed over the young American, preventing her from tossing the ball up. She bounced the ball again, once, twice, thrice. '_Don't get yourself a time violation too_' she thought, and almost mechanically threw the ball up in the air.

The serve Rachel sent to the opposite end of the court was much slower than any other first serve she'd hit that day. There was no topspin on it, it didn't land at an awkward angle, and the bounce was nice and even. If Rachel had to describe it, she'd call it a "Poor serve."

She watched as it was sent back her way, fully expecting the meek serve to be punished.

Instead of landing in Rachel's half of the rectangle the ball flew high over her head, disappearing somewhere in the stands. The stunned brunette followed the ball's progression, first with her eyes, and then by turning around to be able to follow it's onward trajectory behind her. Only when it had bounced did she turn back around to see that Santana was already standing at the net, a proud, almost maniacal, look on her features.

There was pin-drop silence, everyone watching apparently as shocked as Rachel. And then the chair umpire found her voice again.

"Game, set, match, Ms. Berry. 6-3, 7-6."

_5:33 p.m._

"If you had to guess, would you say Lopez shanked that return on purpose?"

To be honest, Rachel didn't really have to guess.


	20. Chapter 20

**Hello everyone :) I have an update ready to be uploaded, but first...**

**Thank you again to everyone that has favourited/followed either myself of this story. I was surprised by the number of new follows/favourites A Perfect Match got after Chapter 19, which I must admit was a nice counter for the reviews that basically insinuated that I should just get on with the romance! I must be doing something right if not every is uber frustrated by the pace of this story! While I'm here, I just want to say that criticism is always welcome in my home. However, I will not respond to it on here, just as I don't respond to praise in my weekly notes either. If you would like to discuss my story then please, make sure your PM settings allow me to message you, and I promise, we can discuss any grievances you might have with my story. Hell, you might even convince me to pick up the pace. If you, however, do not wish to have a discussion then by all means, keep commenting using Guest accounts. It's your call to make!**

**I appear to have confused many people with the end of the last chapter (which I went back and rewrote a little the day after I uploaded the chapter, so feel free to check it out if you didn't know that), so I will use this space to explain my characterisation of Santana. In my mind, she's a fiery player, very confident in her own abilities, but also known to lose her cool when she feels like she's being wronged. Her OCD ways and tendency to do things at her own pace can rub fans the wrong way, so people tend to either love her, or hate her. But her talent is undeniable. In the context of her match against Rachel she let her emotions get the better of her, and gave away a free point to prove a point. Do I think she looks back and regrets it? Yes. Is it all a part of a player growing up? Yes. Will she learn from it? Yes. Athlete's are human beings, and sometimes we all do things we wish we could go back and change. And that to me is what the end of Santana's Wimbledon campaign was to her. **

**Those are my musings this week. Wimbledon (yes, the real one) starts Monday, and I'm looking forward to getting my tennis fix. I hope all is well in your world's. As usual, expect a reply to your feedback soon. And again, feel free to point out any typos/grammatical errors, so I know to fix them.**

**And now, we march onwards...**

Rachel dipped the spoon into the bowl of ice cream, bringing a large chunk of the fudgy goodness up to her lips. Pointing the remote at the television, she aimlessly flipped through channels till she came across Sky Sports, and immediately stopped scrolling. Hitting the mute button brought forth a flood of sound from the previously silent TV, causing Leroy to look up from the book he was reading.

The curly-haired man frowned, "Are you sure that's a good idea sweetheart?"

Rachel grunted noncommittally, turning up the volume just enough to discourage any more comments from her father. Leroy sighed and returned his gaze to his book, briefly shaking his head before resuming his reading.

"…that Chelsea will make Valencia an eighteen-million-pound offer for the Dutch striker, but there's been no official confirmation from the reigning European champions", a blonde female presenter was saying.

The teenager took another bite of her ice cream as the camera switched to a brunette, male presenter, "The Ladies Singles semifinals were played at Wimbledon today, and there were no surprises as Marley Rose and Fleur Delacour both made easy work of their unheralded opponents." Rachel made a sound at that description, causing her father to raise his eyes from the page before him and watch his daughter for a few seconds.

"The fourth-seeded American put on a clinical display," the presenter continued, "defeating Asami Sato 6-3, 6-4. Her opponent in Saturday's championship match seemed to be in even more of a rush, dispatching the unseeded teenager Rachel Berry 6-1, 6-3 in just over an hour. Here's what the players had to say after the match."

The sports new bulletin cut to footage of Fleur Delacour from her post-match conference, "I'm very 'appy wiz 'ow I played today." It jumped to another part of the Frenchwoman's interview, "She ees very young, and I am sure we will play against one anozer many times in ze future. Today maybe my experience 'elped, and for zat I am 'appy." Here the editor made another quick switch, "Oui, zis ees ze first final 'ere for me, and it ees already a dream come true. I will do my best on Saturday, and 'opefully win ze title."

Rachel paused with a spoon of ice cream halfway to her lips when her own face came up on the giant wall-mounted LCD flat-screen, "It was just a disappointing day. I mean, not just that I lost, but how I played overall. Nothing coming off my racket felt right today, and, yeah, it was just a bad, bad day."

The news cut back to the anchor, and Rachel put the spoon into her mouth, the ice cream already melted by then, "Indeed it was. The American hit thirty-three unforced errors today, and only seven winners. In comparison, Delacour ended the match with seventeen winners and an impressively low eleven unforced errors." The brunette took a deep breath and dug her spoon into her bowl with a little more force than was necessary, only to realize that she her finished her ice cream.

The TV coverage cut to a two-shot of both presenters, seated at opposite ends of a long desk, "Sounds like Berry had a rough day in the office," the female presenter said.

"A bit like your weekend games, Alex?" the man asked with a cheeky grin.

The woman, obviously someone named Alex, laughed back, "Unfortunately, yes. So I completely sympathize with her."

"Well, she's only eighteen, so I'm sure this will be a good learning experience for her" the man replied, and a snarky voice in Rachel's head spoke up, '_Easy for you to say_.'

The camera cut back to Alex, "Delacour will now play last year's losing finalist Marley Rose, with the winner set to claim their first Wimbledon title and a winner's purse of one million, one-hundred-and-fifty-thousand pounds."

Marley's smiling face appeared on screen, "They say the third time's the charm, so I'm crossing my fingers. Hopefully I can cross that last hurdle this year." The footage cut to Asami Sato, whose wet hair made it obvious that she had showered before her post-match conference, "It's tough to call. They're both playing fantastic tennis, and know what it's like to go deep into Slam's on a regular basis. So yeah, it could be anyone's game on Saturday."

The coverage cut back to Alex, behind the desk, "Sato isn't lying. Delacour and Rose have played each other eight times, and have split their meetings right down the middle. But, and this is interesting, this is the first time they're meeting on grass."

The bulletin cut to a two-shot of the presenters, "Who's your money on, Graham?" Alex asked.

He looked like he was thinking for a second, "I'm going to have to say Rose. She's been a finalist for the last three years now, and I think this might finally be her year."

"Especially with last year's winner Quinn Fabray far away, enjoying the Ibiza sun" Alex added, prompting Rachel to let out a little laugh. For some reason the presenter's words reminded Rachel of the Vengaboys' hit 'Going To Ibiza', which was all the rage when the brunette was five-years-old, and the song's hook began playing on repeat in her head, lifting her spirits.

Rachel realized she had zoned out and missed the end of Graham and Alex's discussion about Wimbledon when the television programme began showing footage of some sort of motorcycle race. The brunette muted the television again, and rose from the couch with a smile, intent on getting another serving of the chocolate ice cream. Leroy looked up at his now-standing daughter, "I have to admit, I did not expect you to be smiling at the end of that."

The brunette shrugged, "I lost dad, fair and square. But I'm still a Wimbledon semifinalist. And I'm happy with that."

"That's my girl" Leroy smiled, placing his book in his lap and opening his arms for a hug.

Rachel embraced her father, assigning his scent to memory as she did, before straightening up again and looking at him with a serious expression, "When I say I'm happy with that, I mean for now," she clarified, looking him in the eye.

Leroy laughed, "I know, sweetheart. You get your competitive genes from your Dad."

"Yes Papa, but you and I both know that Wimbledon is a tad more important than our Berry Scrabble-thons" she mock-huffed.

Leroy picked his book up, "Shh! Don't tell him, it'll break his heart," he said, making his daughter giggle. He winked before turning his attention back to his book, and Rachel made her way to the rented apartment's kitchen.

She had just finished scooping some more of the creamy treat into her bowl, humming the ridiculously catchy Vengaboys tune about the Spanish party-island as she did, when her phone rang. The teenager opened the freezer door and quickly put the tub back inside before reaching into the pocket of her pajamas to retrieve the device. Her face split into a grin when she saw the name on the display.

"How's Ibiza?" she asked, in lieu of a traditional greeting.

"A bit cold tonight" Quinn's smooth voice replied, and Rachel was pleased to realize that she could hear amusement in the blonde's voice.

"Yeah, I'm glad I carried my winter pajamas" Rachel said, stopping by the living room to switch the television off before making her way to her temporary bedroom.

"Mmm, how did your press go?" Quinn asked. Rachel could hear what sounded like the squeak of mattress springs as the blonde asked her question, and pictured her friend sitting on a bed in a hotel room.

"As the English would say, it went swimmingly dahling" Rachel answered, putting on a fake British accent as she did.

"God, don't ever speak that way when conversing with an actual Englishman, Rach. They'll chase you out of here with three-pronged forks" Quinn laughed.

"It wasn't that bad" she replied, sounding petulant to even her own ears.

"Sure it wasn't" the blonde answered, her tone clearly implying that she was lying.

"Anyway, how was your evening?" Rachel asked, sitting down on her own bed and eating a spoonful of ice cream.

Quinn hummed, "It was alright. We ordered some Chinese takeout, and watched a movie called 'The Ballad of Little Jo'".

"I haven't heard of that one," Rachel frowned, "is it new?"

"Nuh uh," Quinn answered, "it came out in 1993."

"Wow! Is it a classic or something? What made you guys pick it?" Rachel asked.

"Well, for some reason that I still don't really get, Brittany thought it would be about ducks. And she looked so excited that I didn't have the heart to say no. And even if I had wanted to say no, I don't think Santana would have let me" Quinn huffed.

The brunette laughed out loud, "Was the movie good at least?"

Quinn let out an audible sigh, "It was- Wait, do you want me to tell you what it's about?" Rachel hummed, so the blonde continued, "It's set in, like, the late eighteen-hundred's, and it's about this unmarried woman that gets disowned and kicked out of home by her family after getting knocked up, so she pretty much lives the rest of her life pretending to be a man. There's more to it, but that's the gist."

"So it was…?" Rachel trailed off, prompting her friend to end her sentence.

"Depressing. It was depressing" Quinn deadpanned.

"And were there any ducks?" Rachel asked, her voice shaking from an effort to keep from laughing.

"What do you think?" Quinn responded, and that was all it took for Rachel to crack. The brunette laughed and laughed, her amusement exacerbated by the fact that she could hear the blonde join in on the other end.

Rachel wiped away tears from her eyes when she finally found her voice a good thirty-seconds later, "I sort of wish I had come now."

Quinn sounded amused, "Well, you definitely missed out. And for the record, if you ever choose to watch the movie, please, don't extend an invitation to me."

"Noted" Rachel smiled into the phone. "So, what time did you guys leave Brit's?"

"Who says we've left?" Quinn asked, and Rachel adjusted her mental image of the blonde, changing the location from a random hotel room to Brittany's bedroom. '_The sound of the springs could have also been the couch at the Pierce's…_' she thought to herself, now picturing Quinn sitting in the living room of their comfortable Earl's Court apartment.

"You're still there?" Rachel asked, glancing at her alarm clock and realizing it was well past nine at night.

"Yup. Santana and Brittany are upstairs in her bedroom, looking through some old photo albums. I'm making air quotes around the last part, just so you know. But I told Santana I'd like to leave by ten, so hopefully they come out soon, no pun intended" Quinn said, and Rachel could hear her yawn, "I'm usually getting ready for bed by now."

Rachel felt a yawn of her own coming on, and didn't fight it. When she was done she laughed, "Tennis players. We're practically rock stars, with our routines."

Quinn laughed, "Mmm, tell me about it." The were a few seconds of companionable silence, before the blonde spoke up again, "So, Santana and I are heading back stateside tomorrow evening. How long are you here for?"

"Someone at the WTA helped get us onto the British Airways flight back to JFK tomorrow. I think we leave around six in the evening," the brunette answered, finishing off the last of her second bowl of ice cream.

Quinn sounded surprised, "You aren't staying longer? I thought you'd want to have a bit of a holiday with your parents."

"Mm-mm" Rachel answered, "Daddy and Papa resume work on Monday, so it was actually their suggestion that we head back soon. It gives them enough time to get over their jetlag, and get some things done back home."

"Mmm, ok" Quinn said.

"What time is your flight?" Rachel asked, wondering if they would all end up on the same plane.

"Well, the press thinks I'm in Ibiza, so Santana and I decided to fly private. Wait! Did you want to come with?" Quinn asked, suddenly sounding excited.

Rachel's eyes went wide, "You want me to catch a ride with you to America?" she asked, laughing at the absurdity of that sentence.

"Yeah, come on! There's more than enough space for you _and_ your dads!" Quinn said, all traces of sleepiness gone from her voice.

"And Shelby?" the brunette asked.

"And Shelby" Quinn replied confidently. "Sue will be there too, so the more the merrier."

"Hold on," Rachel said, standing up, "let me check with my dads."

Less than twenty-four hours later the Berry's were seated in the comfort of a Gulfstream G550, flying some forty thousand feet over the Atlantic. Rachel looked around in wonder, then turned her gaze to Quinn, who was sat beside her in one of the camel-coloured oversized seats, "I can't believe it was just going to be the three of you on here" she said, gesturing around her.

Quinn opened her mouth to say something, but was beaten to the punch by Santana, "Oh, we were going to fly out on a G100, but-."

The Latina stopped when the blonde seated across her coughed rather loudly. She gave Quinn a funny look before shrugging and turning her attention back to Rachel, "Anyway, want some wine Berry? Your teenage ass isn't going to get any booze for a while when this plane lands."

"I'll have a glass if everyone else is having one. If not, it doesn't matter. I'm not much of a drinker," the young American shrugged.

Shelby sauntered up to them, and sat down beside Santana. Rachel looked around for her father's and saw them taking what appeared to be selfies with Sue, before looking back at her coach.

If Shelby had been surprised that Quinn was still in London then she definitely hadn't voiced it when her young charge had called to tell her about the offer to fly back to America with the world's top two female players. Rachel had given Shelby the choice to stick with the commercial flight if that's what she wanted, but the former player was quite happy to tag along on the private plane.

"Nice ride, ladies" the older brunette commented, nodding her head at Quinn and Santana. She turned her body towards the Latina before anyone could say anything, "So, what was that stunt you pulled in the quarters?"

Rachel didn't think she'd ever live to see Santana Lopez shrink in on herself, but that's exactly what just appeared to have happened. The young American was almost impressed by the false bravado the Spaniard managed to put into her tone when she answered, "I'm not sure what you're referring to."

Quinn barked out a laugh, which landed her on the receiving end of a stink-eye from the Latina. Rachel smiled at their interaction, earning her a glare of her own. Shelby continued, nonplussed, "Oh, I think you know exactly what I'm talking about. I think you called it a "mishit" in your post-match interview. I recall reading some mumbo-jumbo about the ball hitting the frame of your racket."

Santana looked like a deer caught in headlights, "Oh, yeah. Yeah, my timing was off on the shot, and I ended up framing it. Not my best moment," she replied, her nonchalance sounding forced.

"Uh huh," Shelby said, nodding as Sue came to stand beside her seat, "you framed the ball hard enough for it to fly into the _top half of the stands_, on the _opposite_ side of the court. Very impressive." The expression on Shelby's face was a direct contrast to the words coming out of her mouth.

"It was a good match, and a good win for Berry here," Sue piped up, nodding approvingly at Rachel who smiled at the praise, "and it really could have gone either way, even at that point. Pity you couldn't help but throw that little tantrum."

"It wasn't-" Santana began to defend herself, but obviously decided against it when both former players turned to look at her. She sighed, conceding, "It wasn't my best judgment."

"Well, the fact that you recognize that is a good start. Keeping your emotions in check is half the battle when you're a tennis player. If you'd kept your head then who knows, it could have been you in the final tomorrow. But I believe Remus already had that chat with you," Shelby said, referring to Santana's coach, who wasn't flying with them that night.

Santana nodded, and Rachel couldn't help but feel a little sorry for her friend, who had just gotten publicly schooled by two of the game's greats. "Now, did I hear you mention something about wine?" Shelby asked, easing the mood around them. The Latina nodded and rose out of her seat in flash, clearly intent on escaping the scene.

The rest of the flight was relaxing, to say the least. Rachel had mentioned to Quinn that her parents had been looking forward to meeting the blonde, and she felt a warm sensation wash over her when the World No.1 went out of her way to make conversation with the Berry men. The young brunette appreciated her relatively new friend's efforts, and found herself watching the interaction between the trio when they didn't realize she was eavesdropping. She also thanked the heaven's that her dad's were refraining from sharing any embarrassing stories about their daughter with Quinn, but she had a sneaky suspicion that they were too busy being charmed by the blonde to even recall any.

Rachel herself spent some time with Sue, who, unprompted, gave the young player advice on her game, based on what she'd seen of the American's matches at the French Open and Wimbledon. Rachel had learned very early on that it was important to stay open to comments and criticism in the quest to becoming the best athlete you possibly could, and she was grateful for the tips Sue was giving her. She even made notes as the legendary star rattled off pointers, intent on trying some of the changes Sue was recommending.

With seven people on board, Rachel didn't actually spend much one-on-one time with Quinn, but the two managed to chat a little about their plans for the immediate future while eating dinner. The first thing on the blonde's list was to get a detailed brief and update on her dad's trial, which was set for the thirteenth of August, and to resume tennis practice as soon as possible. The World No. 1 hadn't actually been on court since losing to Brittany, and had pulled out of the Stanford-based tournament she was supposed to participate in in a little over a week. Quinn would now only next compete at the Olympics at the end of the month, and Rachel was almost envious when the blonde stated, almost guiltily, that she was still looking forward to competing in her first summer Olympics despite all the drama surrounding her personal life at the moment. The older American must have sensed the slight change in Rachel's mood, because she rested her hand on the brunette's arm and commented that she was sure Rachel would be a part of the US squad in Rio in 2016. Her show of faith lifted Rachel's spirits again, and actually made her feel a little silly about her brief bout of self-pity.

Before Rachel really knew it, the six-and-a-half-hour flight had come to an end, and the plane had rolled to a stop on the tarmac at JFK International. The pilot announced that it was safe to undo their seatbelts now, leading to a series of _clicks_ filling the air as the travelers freed themselves.

"So, do you just continue onwards when we get off?" Rachel asked, turning to ask Quinn the question that had only just struck her.

The blonde shook her head, "No, Santana and I switch to a smaller plane that'll take us to Miami, and Sue's flying commercial to Vegas to spend a few days with her family."

"Oh, ok," Rachel said, adding, "Shelby's flying onwards to Charlotte for a few days too."

One of the cabin crew on board disarmed the door, and the temperature in the plane went up as a gust of warm air entered the cabin. Everyone began to stand up, reaching for the smaller bags that they'd brought on board. Minutes later, the group was gathered outside, standing near the steps that led up to the plane.

"Well, this is us" Rachel said awkwardly, thinking how strange it was to say those words after disembarking from a plane. She stopped herself from stating her next thought, '_Thanks for the lift_' out loud.

The pilot approached, "The plane for Miami has been cleared for takeoff in fifteen minutes, so anyone that's flying on should probably come with me now."

Quinn nodded, before turning to Sue, "See you in a week, Coach?"

Sue nodded, pulling her charge into a hug. "Don't hesitate to call if the paparazzi give you a hard time. I'd be happy to fly back sooner, just to give them a piece of my mind."

Quinn nodded, the ghost of a smile on her features, and then reached out to shake hands with Shelby, followed by the Berry men. Santana was saying her goodbyes to them when the blonde turned to Rachel, "Well, this is goodbye then. For now."

Rachel surprised even herself when she practically launched herself at her fellow tennis player, "Take care of yourself, Quinn," the brunette said, tilting her head to speak into the taller woman's ear. "And remember, you can come spend a few days with my family in New York if things in Miami get too much."

She felt Quinn nod against her cheek, before the two women pulled apart, "I appreciate the offer, Rach." She smiled down at the shorter woman, and Rachel wouldn't have been able to turn her gaze away if Santana hadn't pulled her into another surprising hug.

"See you soon, Berry? I have a loss to avenge" the Latina said, winking cheekily. "Ready, Q?"

Quinn looked at Rachel for a moment, her gaze intense as it bore into the brunette's, before turning to nod at Santana. The two women waved their final goodbyes, picked up their carryon luggage and followed the pilot down the tarmac. Rachel followed them with her eyes, till her father's nudged her, and the small group made their way inside the airport building. No one seemed to notice how quiet Rachel was on the walk there.


	21. Chapter 21

**Hello everyone! I'm sorry I'm updating a few days later than usual, but I've actually been pretty unwell these last few days. Nothing serious, thank God, but I wasn't physically able to do much. In fact, I even missed two whole days of watching Wimbledon from the comfort of my couch because I couldn't bear to look at the bright television screen. I kid you not!**

**Many people might think of this next chapter as sort of pointless, but I have really written it because I received a few requests to show how Quinn does at the Olympics. So, faithful readers, please consider this chapter a 'filler' of sorts, an insight into Rachel's head right now, if you please. As I have mentioned in the dialogue itself (which you will discover for yourselves), I do expect the women to start interacting more now that they're all competing at the same level of tournaments. It was important for me, as a tennis fan, to get them there organically, which might explain a lot about the previous 20 chapters. **

**Before I hit the 'Upload' button, I wanted to once again thank everyone that has favourited or followed the story and/or myself. I was pleasantly surprised at the number of follows A Perfect Match received after the most recent chapter, and even more so at the number of people who were previously merely following the story that chose to take a leap and favourite it as well. It made me mucho happy.**

**I hope to update later this week, but it depends on how I'm feeling. I'll do my best, I promise. And yes, I'll also reply to the feedback everyone's been kind enough to send in later this week too. As always, your comments and criticism have been noted and considered :) **

**Now, how about ya'll read the update while I take a nap?! Happy reading!**

Rachel dropped her gym bag on the floor before unceremoniously plopping herself down on the large leather couch.

"You smell," Leroy remarked, not taking his eyes off the television set while he flipped through channels.

Rachel stretched her achy legs out, resting them on the coffee table before her, "Love you too, Papa" she deadpanned, earning a chuckle from her father. She watched as he skipped past a men's handball match, a shooting event that Rachel couldn't grasp the specifics of in the time it took her Papa to change channels and an event that included horse's, before settling back on the handball match.

"I don't get it," Leroy complained, "three channels covering the Olympics, and not one of them is showing the tennis! A gold medal match featuring an American, at that! It's absurd!"

Rachel nodded, silently agreeing with her father. She checked the schedule on her phone, and verbally confirmed that the match had begun. Leroy muttered angrily under his breath and switched channels again, bypassing the shooting event for a second time. Rachel let out a happy yelp when he hit the forward button one more time and Quinn Fabray's determined face filled the big screen.

"Ooh! It's on, it's on!" she said, sitting up straight. The young brunette scanned the score, noting that Quinn and Fleur Delacour were locked at one game apiece in the first set. Rachel guessed it was likely that the World No. 1 and her opponent, the freshly crowned Wimbledon champion, had both held their opening service games.

John McEnroe confirmed her thoughts moments later, "If those opening service games are anything to go by then both women have saved their best serves for this gold medal match."

Pat O'Brien's voice agreed with the former tennis star, "Yes, neither player has needed a second serve yet. I'm telling you Mac, this matchup might just end up living up to all the pre-match hype!"

The two men fell silent as a point was played, and resumed speaking when Delacour won the point, "Well, Fabray obviously thinks she has a thing or two to prove after her shockingly early departure from Wimbledon, and Delacour would definitely like to prove she can beat the very best at SW19. Someone pass me the popcorn," McEnroe added.

"For someone with a great insight on the game, McEnroe sure gives terrible commentary sometimes" Leroy said, "I mean, yes, what he's saying is valid, but it's really just stating the obvious."

Rachel hummed in agreement, watching, as Delacour served out another game to take a 2-1 lead. The camera panned to the audience, and the young brunette was surprised to see Finn Hudson seated beside Sue Sylvester in Quinn's box. The coverage didn't change cameras or angles for a couple of moments, and Rachel noted Quinn's entire support team was out in full force to back her. She recognized Elliot, Mike, Mercedes, Dave and Roz, and the only person she was unable to place was a young-ish blonde who bore a striking resemblance to Quinn. It didn't take a genius to work out the woman was related to the world's top player.

The commentator's began chatting again while the player's sat down before the change of ends, "That man needs no introduction to our viewers in the USA," O'Brien said.

"Yes, Finn Hudson is a football star back home, but in tennis circles he's better known as Quinn Fabray's boyfriend" McEnroe droned sagely.

"I thought those two haven't confirmed they're an item?" O'Brien said, sounding less certain than his counterpart.

"Oh yeah, they haven't. But it's practically an open secret. I mean, the guy's constantly showing up to her matches halfway around the world" McEnroe defended.

"I'm not sure that argument would hold up in court Mac", O'Brien laughed.

Rachel felt herself bristling at the exchange she had just been privy to. It was one thing for the paparazzi to jump to conclusions and spread falsehoods, but it was a whole other matter when members of tennis' elite added fuel to nonexistent fires. Her Papa was right; McEnroe's commentary _was_ terrible!

Her phone buzzed, distracting her from her internal fuming. She glanced down at the text she'd received.

**Brittany Pierce** – _You watching?_

Rachel quickly typed out a reply, '_Duh!_', and hit send.

Seconds later her phone buzzed again, but this time instead of words, Brittany had sent her a picture of her and Santana watching the match from somewhere inside Center Court. Rachel rolled her eyes, admitting to herself that yes, she was envious her friend was there and she wasn't. Then again, the Games _were_ taking place in Brittany's hometown.

'_Quit rubbing it in!_' she texted her friend, before locking her phone again and turned her attention back to the screen, where the players were sitting down with the score at 3-2. The broadcast cut to another familiar face in the crowd, and Rachel groaned, wondering if NBC was intentionally encouraging it's commentators to indulge in gossiping like teenage girls.

As if on cue, McEnroe spoke up, "Well, Fabray isn't the only one with celebrity support in the house today. In fact, I'd say this man is the bigger draw on this side of the Atlantic."

"Oh yes," O'Brien agreed, "William Weasley is a superstar of the British Film Industry, and was actually just awarded an OBE for the Queen's birthday."

"Wow" McEnroe said.

"Yeah, and while we're still not sure if Fabray and Hudson are actually dating, Delacour and Weasley actually got engaged over the end of season break last year," O'Brien added, just as Quinn got in position to serve.

"Well, at least one of them is trying to stick to facts" Leroy commented, evidently thinking along the same lines as his daughter.

Rachel turned to her father as Quinn and her opponent hit the ball back and forth between them on screen, "I almost forgot! IMG sent me some investment options. Could you and Daddy take a look at them with me later?"

"Of course, sweetheart" Leroy smiled, "you know we're here to help."

His daughter smiled gratefully, before sliding along the couch and curling into her father's side. Leroy put an arm around her, even as he laughed, "God, you really do smell."

"Papa!" Rachel pouted, "It's Sheldon's fault. I think he was trying to kill me today! I could barely walk out of there on my own two feet today. It was like I was taken over by baby Bambi's spirit!"

Leroy roared out a laugh, "Sometimes I forget how theatrical you can be," he said, running his hand up and down Rachel's arm. The two watched the television in silence for a few moments, before the older Berry spoke up again, "Are you sure you'd rather look at stock options than property?"

Rachel leaned back, looking up at her father, "Yes Papa. I know I've already had a good year on tour, and I still can't believe how much money I've made in the space of just seven months. But I'm nowhere near ready to leave this house, our home, yet." She put up her hand to prevent what she knew her father was going to say, "And yes, I know I don't have to move out as soon as I buy a house, and that I can stay with you and Daddy till I'm old and grey, but I don't even want to have another option yet."

"You're the boss," Leroy said, wrapping his arm around his daughter again. "I'm curious though, does Jesse agree?"

Rachel let out a quiet huff at the mention of her new business manager and agent Jesse St. James. The IMG employee had gotten onto Rachel's nerves from the moment they'd met with his condescending ways, but there was no doubting the fact the man was good at his work. The tennis player had even checked with her new confidant Kurt Hummel, who had confirmed that Jesse was one of the tennis world's best agents at the moment, with a work ethic that more than made up for his less than desirable personality. While Rachel and Jesse failed to see eye-to-eye at the start of most of their meetings, she did appreciate that her agent wasn't a 'yes-man' who was happy to agree to everything she said, and the two were usually on the same page by the end of their meetings. In the twenty days since she'd signed with IMG, Rachel had added lucrative endorsement deals with Gatorade, American Express and Neutrogena to her existing contracts with Adidas and Babolat, and Jesse declared this was just the tip of the iceberg.

"Believe it or not, Jesse and I have agreed on this one from the word go" Rachel said.

"Stranger things have happened," Leroy smiled, "wow, what a shot!" he added, clearly amazed at the forehand Quinn just hit to level up the match at 3-all.

"Mmm, someone needs to break soon or this set is headed to a tie-break," Rachel said, before looking back at her Papa, "and yes, Jesse agreed that I should wait to see if I'm still playing consistently well through 2013, and then maybe revisit the idea of buying property at the end of next year."

"Fair enough," Leroy noted, "by the way, I keep forgetting to ask, how old _is_ Jesse?"

"Twenty-six," the short brunette replied, "and very ambitious."

"You have to be, to be successful in the industry he's in," the older Berry pointed out. "Breakpoint for your friend."

The pair fell silent, their gazes fixed on the flat screen TV as the Frenchwoman threw the ball high up in the air, and sent a perfectly placed ace down the middle of Quinn's side of the court.

"And saved," Rachel said, letting out a breath she didn't realize she was holding.

"Have you ever met Delacour outside of your match at Wimbledon?" Leroy asked after the World No. 3 had held serve again.

Rachel shook her head, "Mmm-mm. I think I just missed her at the Adidas photo shoot in London. She was very nice at the net after she beat me though, and Brittany said she was lovely when they had a hit together before Wimbledon."

Rachel's phone went off, and she smiled at the new picture Brittany had sent her. Lifting the phone, she showed her father the image of a wide-eyed Brittany pretending to chew her nails from sheer stress while Santana's bemused face peered at the camera from over her shoulder. Leroy arched an eyebrow at the picture, "What's going on with those two?"

The teenager looked up at him with bright, excited eyes, before breaking out into a wide grin, "They're official!"

Leroy looked taken aback, "They're engaged?"

Rachel gently slapped his arm, "No Papa! Gosh, sometimes you act like you grew up in the Stone Age! They're exclusive. Santana asked Brit out," she clarified with a laugh.

"Wow, I really am old," Leroy said, his confusion replaced with a self-deprecating laugh, "being official meant something completely different in my day."

The father-daughter duo watched the end of another point, "The points are getting longer," Rachel observed, "its only a matter of time before someone pushes to break."

"So," Leroy spoke up after they quietly watched the match for a few minutes, "are Brittany and Santana going to tell the press? God knows Johnny Mac needs to get his fix of gossip."

"And you call me dramatic," Rachel giggled. "I don't actually think they've decided if they're going to tell the press just yet. Brittany isn't too keen on the idea of the paps asking her about their relationship. I mean, they've only _just_ started dating. And anyway, she'd rather the focus stay on her tennis."

"Yeah, that isn't going to happen," Leroy said, "what about Santana?"

"She says she's used to the press being nosy ever since she came out, and is ok with whatever Brit decides," Rachel shrugged.

"Are there many couples on tour?" Leroy asked after a few moments, his tone genuinely curious.

"I really don't know," Rachel answered, his brow furrowed in thought. "I know there are a few ladies that like the ladies on tour, but I'm not sure if anyone's dating a fellow player. There must be though, right?"

Leroy gave a half-shrug as he bobbed his head up and down, "I sure would think so, at least statistically speaking."

Rachel still looked thoughtful, "And I guess it would be easier than a long distance relationship, I mean, as long as both people were playing at the same level. Which is why it's great that Brit's now playing at the Premier level too. She and Santana can play all the same tournaments, if they want to."

"It wouldn't necessarily be easier. You have to consider the fact that you'd be competing, seriously competing, _against_ your partner. You'd have to have a very understanding relationship to survive that on a regular basis," Leroy stated, "God, the press will have a field day when Santana and Brittany compete, if and when they find out."

The young brunette shrugged, "Well, Santana and Quinn's friendship doesn't seem to affect their games, or vice versa, when they play against each other. And Venus and Serena seemed to go all out when they played against each other."

"I suppose" Leroy conceded.

"Ooh! Double breakpoint for Quinn" Rachel said, sitting up straight. She watched as Delacour served a fault, and literally jumped out of her seat when Quinn punished the Frenchwoman's weak second serve with a service winner down the line to win the game.

"And there's the break!" O'Brien exclaimed, "Fabray lead's 5-4 in the first." The footage switched to Quinn's box, where everyone was on their feet, clapping and shouting out words of encouragement to the player. At this point the host broadcaster decided to take the first commercial break of the entire match, so Rachel sat back down and muted the television.

She turned to see her father smiling at her. "I guess we all know who you're supporting tonight."

"Of course," Rachel said, as if it were obvious, "Team USA!"

The brunette's phone buzzed, and she unlocked it to see a slightly blurry picture of Santana half-standing from her seat, seemingly yelling something with her right hand raised in a fist pump. Rachel would wager that her blonde friend had taken the picture without her girlfriend realizing it.

Her attention was diverted when the front door opened, and her Daddy walked in, carrying two boxes of pizza. "Is the match over?" Hiram asked, in lieu of a proper greeting.

Rachel shook her head, grabbing the boxes from his hand, "No, Quinn's about to serve for the first set."

"Perfect timing then," Hiram said, dropping a kiss to the top of her head, and planting another one on his husband before sitting down on the couch. "Uh, Rach, when was the last time you showered?" he questioned, his light tone earning a giggle from Leroy, and an eye-roll from his daughter.

Rachel lifted the lid off of one of the boxes and quickly snapped a picture of the contents before sending it to Brittany. Her English friend loved New York pizza, and Rachel thought it was a fitting response to the jealously inducing messages her friend had been sending her in the last hour. Sure enough, her phone buzzed mere seconds later.

**Brittany Pierce** – _Touché_.

The brunette grinned before locking her screen and taking an enormous bite out of a cheesy slice of pizza. On screen, Quinn had won the first two points, and taken a 30-0 lead. Soon Rachel was cheering with a mouthful of pizza as the blonde wrapped up the first set 6-4.

"Swallow before you speak, Rach" Leroy laughed, before standing up. "Drink, anyone?" he asked.

"Do we have any Dr. Pepper?" Hiram asked, and received a nod from his husband.

"Just water, thanks, Papa" Rachel said, after she'd swallowed her food as requested.

"Coming up" Leroy said, and took off towards the kitchen.

"Oh, Daddy!" Rachel said, "did you remember to print my tickets?"

"Yeah, they're in my bag, by the door. Front zip" Hiram answered, nodding his head towards the bag.

"What time is your flight?" Leroy called out from the kitchen.

"8:50-something" the teenager answered back.

"Its not too bad" Hiram commented as Leroy walked back into the room, carrying the requested drinks.

"Yeah," Rachel agreed, "and I don't have to worry about changing time zones either."

"Just another reason to love Canada" Leroy threw in, opening his own can of soda with a _pop!_

"Wow, Quinn's on fire" Hiram said, watching the World No. 1 hit an overhead winner. "Has she been playing like this all throughout?"

Leroy shook his head, "No, she's definitely raised her level of play over the last few games."

"Impressive" Hiram said, taking a sip of his drink. "So, Rach, I emailed Shelby her tickets too. She should be at the hotel by the time you get there. And I CC-ed Jesse on the emails."

"Thanks Daddy," Rachel said, before sipping her water.

The threesome ate quietly for a while, watching as Quinn raced to a 4-0 lead. "Will everyone that competed at the Olympics be playing in Montreal next week?" Leroy asked, as if suddenly struck by the thought.

Rachel nodded, "Most of them, yes. It's a Premiere 5 tournament, so there are a lot of points at stake. Quinn won't be though. She has some legal stuff to do before her dad's trial."

"Mmm, I'm sure she'll be glad when that's over and done with" Hiram stated.

"And that's reminds me," Leroy chirped up, "Rachel wants us to look at some of the investment options IMG sent over with her."

"Oki dok," Hiram nodded, "after the match?" Rachel nodded.

The three Berry's ate in companionable silence, only breaking the quiet to comment on the quality of play every so often, until the three cheered as one when Quinn hit the winning shot to close out the second set 6-2. Rachel couldn't help but smile fondly at the television when the World No. 1 dropped her racket to the ground and covered her mouth with her hands, a look of sheer disbelief on her features. The winner turned to face her box as she raised her arms in the air, and the footage cut to her entourage, who were hugging one another and cheering wildly. The camera cut back to Quinn as she jogged over to the net to embrace Delacour, who was putting up a brave face. The two hugged, and in true French fashion Delacour kissed each of Quinn's cheeks before heading off to shake hands with the umpire.

Rachel could make out a small podium being set up in the background, while Quinn and her vanquished opponent slipped into their uniform jackets. The brunette shook her head, vaguely thinking about how strange it was to see so much colour on Wimbledon's courts. She doubted she'd ever get to see the sight again in her lifetime, what with the tournament's strict dress code. She was broken from her thoughts when Santana walked up to Quinn, dressed in the Spanish team's tracksuit, and the two embraced to the sound of cheers. The brunette sighed, not for the first time wishing she was on the other side of the screen.

Her father's must have sensed her mild distress, because Hiram wrapped his arm around his daughter and simply stated, "Just four years to Rio, sweetheart."

Rachel nodded, tucking herself into her Daddy and inhaling deeply. She would miss her father's when she was back on the road tomorrow, but at the same time, she couldn't wait to compete again.

Many players spoke of the gripping loneliness they felt because of the time they spent apart from their families, but in the past few weeks Rachel had realised that she couldn't count herself amongst their numbers. The teenaged American had found she had an insatiable thirst to succeed, which only fuelled her desire to battle it out against women whose ambitions matched her own. Unlike many young players, Rachel was honestly beginning to really enjoy life on the road, even the challenges it sometimes raised, and knew that the friendships she was forming contributed to her willingness to travel the world, playing tennis in stadiums packed with millions of strangers.

She watched as Santana, Delacour and, finally, Quinn lowered their heads and received their medals, and felt a strange affinity towards the smiling trio. And even more than that, she relished the prospect of facing them across the net again, proving to the world that she deserved to be there. She could hardly wait to be back on court.


	22. Chapter 22

**What do you know?! I ****_did _****manage to knock another chapter out this week! And I think it's a good one too! Before I update, it's time for my weekly observations...**

**Thank you again for all the reviews, as well as follows and favourites. My health is much improved this week, and my ego is happy with all the new people that have subscribed to the story. I don't like when I say its much appreciated.**

**I remember a few people questioning Santana's meltdown in her match against Rachel. Ironically enough, the young Kyrgios went through a similar meltdown a few days ago at Wimbledon, and might now be fined for tanking a few shots. See, it does happen! Kid's gotta toughen up his head, I say!**

**Also, a few people have pointed out that I use character names from Harry Potter and Legend of Korra. I went that route because Glee only has so many names I can use in this larger than life setting, and it made more sense than confusing readers by using actual tennis player names. It's also less blasphemous to tennis fans like myself! As much as I love the Quinn I am writing, I wouldn't go as far as to say she defeats Serena Williams on a regular basis! **

**That's enough rambling from me for now. Don't hesitate to hit the review button, because I really do like knowing what you think :) **

"If you could just sign here, that'll be that," Jesse said, sliding a piece of paper over to Rachel, and indicating the spot that required her signature as he passed over his own Montblanc pen for her to use. The young brunette ran her eyes over the document, giving it a cursory once over; her father's had taught her to never put her name on a document unless she knew exactly what it said. Happy with the print, Rachel inked the deal, absentmindedly marveling at the pen's smoothness. "Great," her agent said, pulling the paper back and gently blowing on the signature to hasten the drying of the shiny wet ink. He replaced the lid on the pen while he waited, placing it in the breast pocket of his suit before putting the now-dry contract in a file, and stowing away the file in his leather man-bag. His movements reminded Rachel of Santana's almost obsessive-compulsive pre-match and court routines, and she sensed that Jesse always did things just so too.

The agent cleared his throat before turning his blue eyes onto his client, "I think you'll be happy with that investment. They opened six new international offices earlier this year, and word is that they're opening another one in Sydney this November. And then they're heading into Singapore and the rest of Asia. It might take a couple of years to really bring in dividends, but trust me, you're going to make a killing when the company announces its initial public offering."

Jesse took a sip from his glass of white wine, and Rachel nodded. This had been the one investment that her father's weren't completely certain about, but then again, neither of the Berry men had ever looked at investing in an Internet startup before. Still, they had supported their daughter when she'd zeroed in on the company, and after reading the literature Jesse had provided as well as asking some of their own banker friends, were as convinced as Rachel that it was a good place to put a portion of her earnings.

The brunette finished off the last of her serve of Abigail Street's delicious falafel dish before leaning back in her seat, a satisfied smile on her lips. Shelby came back from the restroom and retook her seat, smiling at her young charge, "Happy?" Rachel smiled at nodded, looking up when a waiter approached their table.

"Were you interested in any dessert tonight?" the young man asked the trio.

"No dessert for me, but I'll have a Ristretto, thanks" Jesse said, giving the server a cursory glance.

"You're a brave man, to be drinking coffee this late," Shelby commented, before looking up at the waiter, "Could I please get a green tea?"

The waiter nodded then looked towards Rachel, who shook her head, "I'm good, thank you."

Shelby spoke again when the waiter took off, "What time do you leave, Jesse?"

"My flight's at 8:48, so I'll head straight to the airport after this," Jesse said, taking another sip of his wine. "This was just a quick business trip to check-in with a few of the players I manage," he added, "speaking of which, have you given any thought to how you'd like to proceed when it's time to renew your contract with Rachel?"

Rachel looked at her coach, knowing that her business manager was referring to his proposal that Shelby switch from being exclusively on a base salary during a meeting that had taken place between the teenager, her father's, Jesse and Shelby in IMG's New York headquarters. Rachel had been vocal about the fact that she was happy with whatever Shelby decided, and was comfortable with, and the veteran player had promised to consider the new proposition. Now she stifled a yawn as she nodded her head, "Sorry, I'm really tired tonight. But yeah, I'd be happy to change it around to a combination of a base salary plus a take of the winnings and performance-oriented bonuses. I'm confident I have myself a winning horse here" she threw in with a smile in the young brunette's direction.

"As am I," Jesse said, seemingly happy with her answer. "Ok, I can draw up a mock-contract, and we can start tweaking it when I see you guys back in New York in a couple of weeks. That way we should have everything in place by November." Shelby nodded, and Jesse raised his glass of wine towards her, "I love it when business is simple" he said, before throwing back the last of his drink.

Just over a quarter of an hour later the two women bade the sports agent a safe journey as he climbed into the back of a cab, before beginning the short walk to their temporary home in Cincinnati's gorgeous Over The Rhine neighbourhood. It was a pleasant summer's night, and the pair enjoyed the walk back to the apartment block that housed the service apartments they would stay in as long as Rachel was still alive in the Western &amp; Southern Open. The two chatted amiably about the young American's first-round win from earlier today, and Shelby suggested not having a very grueling training session the next day, considering that Rachel's body and mind would have to be prepared for five straight days of competitive tennis if she was to go on to win the tournament.

The women walked out of the elevator on the seventh floor, still talking about Rachel's second-round opponent, Tina Cohen-Chang. They each pulled out key cards to their own adjoining apartments, as Rachel expressed quiet confidence in her ability to beat her familiar South Korean opponent. Shelby nodded along, "Yeah, I like your chances too," she said, opening the front door. "Ok, I'm gonna see if Ken wants to watch a movie before I call it a night. You girl's make sure to get an early-ish night, and I'll see you bright and early."

Rachel mock-saluted her, which earned the teenager a soft smack on the arm. The two women bade each other a good night and Rachel let herself in to her own apartment, where she was greeted by the sight of Brittany, Santana and Quinn eating what appeared to be Chinese takeout. "Quinn! When did you get here?" Rachel smiled, dropping her keycard onto the small table by the door.

The blonde rose from the couch, placing her takeaway container on the coffee table in front of her, and met her fellow American in the middle of the room, where the pair embraced. "About an hour ago" Quinn said, pulling back from the hug and returning to her spot on the couch while Rachel sat in another armchair.

"Want something to eat?" Brittany asked, her legs entangled with Santana's.

Rachel shook her head, "I just ate at Abigail Street. They have some fantastic food."

"Yeah? Maybe we should go eat there this week?" the Englishwoman asked more than stated, her gaze directed at her girlfriend, who shrugged.

"If you're ok with that," the Latina replied, bringing her chopsticks to her mouth again and chomping down on some noodles.

"Well, tennis players eat out together all the time, so I don't think it would raise any eyebrows" Rachel said. "And the restaurant seems to be popular with the players. I just saw Sato, the Patil twins and a few of the guys in there."

"Yeah, I've eaten there before too," Quinn said, "the food's delicious."

"So that's decided then", Rachel said, standing up, "I'm gonna make some tea. Anyone want some?"

Quinn nodded, but also rose from her seat, "I'll come help." The blonde followed her friend to the kitchen, pulling out cups from the cabinet Rachel pointed out while the brunette put some water on to boil. The younger American pulled out a bag of green tea before offering the little box to Quinn, who opted for some ginger tea. The two women stood across one another, leaning against the countertops while they waited for the water to be done.

"So, how was today?" Rachel asked, looking at Quinn.

Quinn took a deep breath, "Pretty horrible, really. Dad took a plea deal."

Rachel nodded. Everyone at the Lindner Family Tennis Center had been talking about the Russell Fabray case earlier today, so it was hard to miss the details when they'd emerged shortly after Rachel's win. It hadn't taken long for journalists to write pieces about how the father of the world's top-ranked female tennis player had opted to take a deal over facing the uncertainty that a multi-week trial would have brought. They had also, unnecessarily in Rachel's opinion, shone the spotlight on Russell's history of personal problems like alcoholism and a rumoured abuse of prescription medicines. The man had officially been sentenced to four years and four months in prison, but was currently out on $2 million bail. News channels had played and replayed footage of Quinn walking out of her father's lawyers offices, the blonde responding to reporters' questions with only the words, "Haven't you guys got enough?". The footage had broken Rachel's heart, and she was extremely happy to have Quinn around her again, away from the prying eyes of the merciless paparazzi.

"Will he actually have to go to prison?" she asked, just as the water finished boiling.

The blonde nodded, watching as Rachel poured water into their cups, "Yeah, he'll have to serve at least half of his actual sentence before the authorities consider reducing the sentence for good behaviour. The time he spent under house arrest will count as time served, though."

Rachel was going to ask the blonde is she was ok, but stopped herself, thinking it was a ridiculous question given the circumstances. So instead she opted for, "How are you?"

Quinn picked up her mug, nursing it in her hands, "I feel sad. Like, really sad." She looked down at her drink, not lifting her gaze as she continued, "My dad used to be a car salesman, and mom was, _is_, a middle-school teacher. We lived in a small townhouse in Chicago, and I remember them being happy. At least, I think they were happy. We did something, as a family, every other weekend, Dad, Mom, Frannie and me. One day we went to the park with some of Dad's work buddies, and my sister and I found someone's tennis rackets lying by a picnic blanket, so we grabbed the rackets and went to the tennis court." Quinn stopped to take a deep breath, looking back up at Rachel, "Dad came up and saw us laughing and trying to hit the ball across the net, and to this day he swears he knew I was a natural then and there. Anyway, long story short, I started going to tennis classes, and Dad would take me to the park four days a week to have a hit after he'd come home from work. I was eight."

Quinn blew on her tea before taking a sip, seemingly lost in her own thoughts. Rachel didn't interrupt, and quietly mimicked her by drinking her own tea. After a few seconds of silence, Quinn went on, "Dad started reading a lot of books, you know, about tennis coaching, and how to be a better player. Our family outings grew less and less frequent, because all Dad wanted to do was take me to the court for a hit whenever he had the chance. I became dad's project. The park was pretty close to home, so we'd walk there, and Dad would talk about how rich I was going to make the family when I became the number one player in the world. How we'd own the biggest house, the best cars, how I was going to be rich and famous."

Rachel's heart almost broke again, thinking about how unfair it was for a grown man to be putting that much pressure on a young girl's shoulders. She racked her brains, and couldn't think of a single occasion when her own father's had said anything in a similar vein. In fact, they encouraged her to find hobbies _besides_ tennis, wanting her to enjoy her childhood while it lasted. The thought just confirmed what she already knew; she was incredibly blessed to have the parents she did.

"Dad decided to move us all to Miami when I was about to turn ten, saying it would be better for my tennis career to train at the McKinley Academy," Quinn said. "I loved playing the game, so I was happy to go anywhere as long as I got to play, but looking back I realize how hard it must have been for Mom and Fran, who's three years older than I am. I think she resented me for being the sole focus of dad's attention, and we drifted apart for a few years. And I think Mom felt really bad for Fran, because the two of them started doing their own thing on the weekends. So it became Mom and Fran, and Dad and me."

"I only realized how dysfunctional the situation at home was when I came back from training in Barcelona. Fran was away at college by then, and I think being away for so long helped me notice that my parent's didn't really talk anymore. And I guess Dad didn't know what to do with all the spare time he suddenly had when I left, because he was drinking very heavily by the time I returned." Rachel noticed that Quinn's eyes had begun to glisten as she reminisced about what sounded like a painful past.

"Mom applied for a divorce when I was sixteen, and Dad didn't put up a fight. That's when it first hit me that he'd practically sacrificed his marriage, and his relationship with my sister, for the sake of my tennis career, and I felt horrible Rachel. And so guilty," she added, her voice cracking.

"Oh Quinn! You shouldn't feel guilty! It's not like you could have grasped what was going on at that age" Rachel said, her tone passionate.

The blonde seemed to regain the composure she was on the verge of losing, "The logical part of my brain understands and accepts that as the truth, but it still hurts to think that something I love so much also took so much away. I'm a world champion, but it cost my parent's marriage. And, to an extent, my own relationship with my mother and sister. At least Fran's making a real effort to get to know me now. Things with Mom can still be…weird."

Quinn looked thoughtful, "But, and this might sound strange, I rationalized that sure, my career was partially responsible for making a mess of our family life, but it had also given us so much. All four of us would never want for anything again; I bought us all nice houses, paid for Fran to go study at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris and I'm about to open a restaurant with her later this fall. Dad was happy to see me succeed, even if we didn't always see eye-to-eye on his methods sometimes. He really seemed to enjoy managing my career too. Mom's dating this really nice new guy, and seems genuinely happy with where her life's at. So it wasn't all bad. And then _this_ happens. And again, I'm left thinking about how much the sport I love to play has also taken from me. And like I said, it makes me sad. My career was supposed to make things good for the Fabray's. This isn't good. My dad in prison for four years is _not_ good."

Quinn sounded so small that Rachel finally gave in to the urge to offer her physical comfort. She crossed over to where the blonde was standing, placed her mug on the countertop behind her, and wrapped an arm around the slightly taller woman's waist as she stood beside her. The blonde seemed to welcome the comfort on offer, leaning her head on Rachel's shoulder. The brunette was engulfed by the smell of strawberries as the strands of Quinn's hair tickled her nose.

"Have you spoken to your mother or sister today?" Rachel asked, running her hand up and down Quinn's side in what she hoped was a soothing gesture.

"Mmm-hmm," Quinn said, "Fran came with to the lawyers, and Mom came by to see me before I flew out. She's going to come to New York too, to spend time with me."

"That's good then" Rachel commented, and the two women stood in silence for a few minutes, both lost in their own thoughts. The brunette broke the quiet when a sudden thought came to her, "Just so you know, Brit was under the impression that a ballad was a male duck."

Quinn stilled, before lifting her head and turning to face the brunette, "The _Ballad_ of Little Jo" she breathed out, her eyes bright, receiving a nod from Rachel.

The two locked gazes for a moment, before breaking out into peals of laughter. "Oh God," Quinn finally articulated, holding on to a stitch in her side, "that explains it" she added, before dissolving into more giggles.

"Yeah, you have to think out of the box with Brittany" Rachel said, when their laughter had finally subsided. "When I retire I'm going to write a coffee-table book filled with some of the things that come out of that woman's mouth, and make a killing."

The World No. 1 let out another soft giggle, then placed her hand on Rachel's arm, "Thanks Rach, I really needed that laugh. And thanks for listening to me rant before."

Rachel placed her hand atop Quinn's, "Anytime. And this probably won't help you right now, but you need to know that you have nothing to feel guilty about. Unfortunately, I think your Dad knew what he was doing. And now he just has to do the time for his crime."

"I know," Quinn acknowledged with a bob of her head. "I love him so much, even if I don't always like the person he's turned into. And I really wish I could stop being so angry at him right now too. All the emotions are messing with my head."

"I find that a good hit on the tennis court is a great way to work out any pent up rage," Rachel said, earning a wry smile from Quinn.

"Yeah, it's good to beat the crap out of a tennis ball sometimes," the blonde agreed.

"Who's your first match?" Rachel asked, changing the topic as she picked up her mug of tea and sipped.

"Don't know yet," Quinn said, "I have a first-round bye, and play the winner of the Patil versus Chan game."

"Parvati or Padma?" Rachel questioned.

"Parvati," Quinn clarified, "although I really can't tell the difference between those two."

"They sound different when you speak to them" Rachel said, starting to walk back out to the living room.

"Yeah?" Quinn asked, placing her mug in the sink before following the brunette, "I've never noticed."

Rachel stopped near the couch, her eyes trained on Santana and Brittany who were setting up the Play Station console, "Yeah, Parvati has a slightly deeper voice. And the hint of a lisp."

"You're definitely more observant that me. Then again, I've spoken to Padma twice in my life. Or maybe it was Parvati the second time…" Quinn trailed off with a slight frown, before turning to the couple in the room. "What are you two playing?" she asked them.

"Call of Duty," Santana answered, "do you guys wanna play too?"

Quinn glanced at the clock on the wall, before shaking her head, "Nah, I think I'm gonna go back to our apartment and crash. It's been a long day."

"I'm with Quinn," Rachel remarked, "I'm gonna shower and head to bed."

"Don't forget we're hitting together at 11, Quinn" Brittany said, receiving a nod from her fellow blonde.

"Got it Brit. Alright, I'm off. Good night everyone" Quinn said, making her way to the door. Rachel followed, letting her friend out and watching as she pressed the button for the elevator. "Oh, before I forget Rach, I've got all of Season 2 of Game of Thrones with me."

Rachel's eyes went wide, "How did you manage that?!"

"I know people," Quinn winked, feigning mystery. "Anyway, I missed most of the season while I was on the road, and I thought you might have too?" When the brunette nodded, Quinn continued, "Cool, so I thought you might wanna watch it with me?"

"Yes please" Rachel nodded, excited.

The elevator dinged before the doors slid open, "Ok, did you wanna come upstairs and watch a couple of episodes tomorrow? We could even do dinner at mine and Santana's if you wanted?"

"Count me in" Rachel smiled, earning a grin from Quinn.

"Awesome. I'll see you tomorrow. Night Rachel" she said, walking into the elevator.

The brunette watched the doors close, then walked back inside and shut the door to her apartment. Santana and Brittany were already deeply involved in their videogame, so Rachel bade them pleasant dreams before heading to her room.


	23. Chapter 23

**Hello! I had this update ready a couple of nights ago, but wanted to read it once before I put it up. And I'm glad I did because I had quite a few spelling errors that I'd missed in my haste! Yes, I tend to write my chapters all at one go. Also, I'm human, so let me know if I missed any spelling or grammatical errors, and I shall fix them up pronto.**

**Ok, weekly notes. Thank you to everyone that wrote me a review, and/or followed/favourited myself or this story. As most writers will tell you, less than a tenth of people that read stories will write you a review, so I'm always grateful to anyone that took the time to drop me a line. **

**The actual Wimbledon ended last weekend, and while I'm disappointed Federer couldn't pull off a win, I AM glad that I get to sleep at a normal hour again. Everything seems to take place in a ridiculously different timezone to Australia!**

**One last thing - I was contacted by PhDGlee2014, who is looking for fan fiction authors aged between 14-17 for a study that looks at whether reading and writing LGBT-themed stories affects real life actions as well. I believe the interaction is only virtual and subjects get compensated for their time, so please get in touch with PhDGlee2014 if you're willing to help. Her email is PhDGlee2014 at gmail dot com.**

**And now, here's Chapter 23 :) Yes, it's longer than usual. You're welcome ;)**

"I should warn you, it might take you a couple of minutes for your eyes to adjust to the lights," the dark-haired journalist said kindly, and Rachel nodded her understanding.

"Striking," a disembodied voice called out from somewhere in the room.

The main lights in the studio turned off and Rachel was thrown into pitch darkness for a split-second before the overhead egg crate frame came to life, bathing the room in soft white light. Rachel blinked a couple of times, realizing that everyone besides herself and the woman seated across her were lost in the sea of darkness.

"You ok?" the journalist checked.

"I'm good," Rachel nodded, lifting the corners of her lips up to reassure her interviewer.

"Could you please say that again, Ms. Berry?" a voice spoke up, and Rachel squinted her eyes in the general direction the question came from. She could just about make out the shape of someone sitting on a chair.

"I'm good" Rachel replied, this time as more of a question. Why would someone want her to repeat those words?

"Ok, yeah, sound levels are good," the same voice said back, and realization dawned on the young tennis player.

"Roger that, Dave. We're ready to rock and roll, Rachel," another voice piped up, confusing the teenager again.

"He means me," the journalist said, laughing as she pointed her thumb at herself. "That's the problem with having a name that ranks in the top hundred most popular names for girls in six different countries. Sometimes I don't know what my parents were thinking."

Rachel laughed, "Well, my dads were huge friends of the TV show Friends."

"Yeah, I don't think my folks were that deep," the journalist grinned, "Anyway, like Rohit said, all systems are a go. You ready?" When the tennis played nodded, the older woman added, "Ok, remember, just tell me if I ask a question you aren't comfortable with, and we'll stop rolling."

Rachel took a deep breath, "Ok."

"And again, there's a camera over my shoulder and one to your right," the correspondent added, pointing in the direction of the equipment, "but it'd be great if you could just keep looking at me while we chat. As the clichéd line goes, pretend there's no camera on you."

Rachel nodded and repeated, "Ok. Got it." This wasn't the young American's first television interview, but she was still getting used to the idea of having to answer questions in front of a camera.

"Alright, let's do this," the reporter said, straightening up on her barstool type seat and clearing her throat. Rachel mimicked her, straightening her posture.

"Quiet on set please. Roll sound," someone called out.

"Rolling," a voice replied.

"Roll camera," the first voice called out again.

"Camera rolling," came the reply.

"Action!" the first voice called yet again, the word echoing slightly as the studio was enveloped by a pin-drop silence.

Rachel counted to five seconds in her head before her namesake addressed her, "Welcome to SportsCenter, Rachel."

The tennis player ducked her head and smiled, "Thank you for having me, Rachel."

The journalist let out a loud laugh, "Our names already caused a little bit of confusion before the camera's even rolled, so I'm going to start with a question I don't often lead with; tennis has had a Swiss Miss, a Fräulein Forehand, an Ice Maiden and a Juju. Do they have a nickname for you yet?"

Rachel shook her head and laughed, "No, no one's come up with a cool nickname for me yet. Do people even do that anymore? Because I'm open to suggestions."

"Well, _you_ spend more time in the locker-room than me so you're probably better qualified to answer that question" the journalist replied.

"I can't say I've heard many, and I definitely can't repeat any of the one's I _have_ heard on camera," Rachel said with a smile. "It's all in good fun, of course."

"So women's tennis really is as friendly as the players say it is then? Even for a newbie, such as yourself?" the reporter asked.

"Yeah," Rachel nodded, "I mean, of course everyone, and that includes me, has bad days where you know to stay out of their way, but on the whole the atmosphere in the locker-room is great. Very supportive."

"Does the friendliness have a roll-over effect on court?" the older Rachel asked.

The young brunette thought for a moment, "I don't think so. I mean, everyone plays to win so you're never going to get an easy match. The girl's might all get on pretty well, but no one's going to do you any favours when they're on the opposite side of the net from you. The stakes are too high."

"Well, that just makes your freshman year on tour that much more incredible. Not many players can say they've been seeded in their maiden grand slam, yet that's exactly what you've managed to do for your first US Open, where you'll be the seventeenth seed. Did you think you'd be ranked this high this quickly?", the reporter questioned.

Rachel shook her head even as her face threatened to split from the smile that had taken over her features, "Oh God, no! Not in my wildest imagination! This is more than a dream come true. I keep asking my dads to pinch me, just to check I'm not dreaming. I mean, is this Inception?", she laughed.

"I don't know, have you checked your totem?", the journalist kidded back. The two women shared a brief laugh, "But allow me to quickly digress; you just mentioned your dads, and have been very open about the fact that you've been raised by two men. What was that like, growing up?"

Rachel answered promptly, knowing the subject was going to come up at some point during the interview, "It was how I imagine any happy home is. I had, and have, two parents who love me very much. Who have always put my needs above their own, and have given me the best life they could provide."

"Do you believe your relatively unconventional upbringing had an impact on who you are today?" the journalist pressed.

"Of course it did. But I think everyone's upbringing affects the adults they grow up to be, regardless of whether they were raised by a heterosexual couple, a homosexual one, a single parent or someone else. If you're asking whether being the child of two gay men made my childhood any different to the average kid's then the answer is no. Maybe it's because I grew up in New York City that it wasn't as big a deal, I don't know. But having two father's never made me feel different to any of the kids I interacted with."

"What about now, on tour? That unfortunate episode with the fan was all over the news when you were playing in New Haven last week," the correspondent pointed out.

Rachel's mind flashed back to the incident the other woman was referring to, where someone in the crowd had raised up a blatantly homophobic handmade poster and yelled out obscenities directed at Rachel's fathers, who were both in attendance for the American's quarterfinal match. Her face lost any hint of a smile as she replied, "First of all Rachel, I wouldn't call that man a fan. A true fan comes to the tennis to watch athletes, who train harder that most people can even fathom, compete on court, and is there to support their favourite players. The guy in New Haven was there to use the tournament and myself, and by extension my fathers, to get his hateful message some free publicity. Kudos to the tournament organisers for taking quick action and evicting him from the stadium before he could create any more problems. But now, I refuse to give the man even more time in the spotlight by discussing him and his small-minded ways with you. So if you don't mind, could we please move on?"

"I can respect that," the journalist nodded, "but before we switch topics, I wanted to commend you on the way you've dealt with the whole episode. Especially given that you're just eighteen. I think the fact that you actually went on to win that match speaks volumes about your mental strength."

"Thank you," Rachel responded, losing some of the rigidness their previous discussion had caused in her body.

"Ok, back to happier topics then. Does the fact that your first time being seeded at a Slam comes at the Major being played in your own backyard made it even more special?", the journalist asked.

Rachel relaxed again, happy with the new subject they were on. She took a deep breath, ready to launch into an excited rant about how she was over the moon for the exact reason her interviewer had just brought up.

A little over thirty minutes later, the two Rachel's had smiles on their faces as they stood and shook hands. The lights were back on and there was a flurry of activity happening around them as the production crew busied themselves checking footage and equipment, and setting up for the next interview. Rachel had crossed paths with Kitty Wilde when she had come in, and Jesse had informed her that the channel was shooting multiple interviews that week for telecast during the fortnight of tennis ahead of them while she was in hair and makeup.

Speaking of the agent, there he was, leaning against the wall near the door and tapping into his Blackberry. He looked up when Rachel approached after bidding farewell to the journalist, and pressed a few more buttons before slipping the phone into his pocket and standing upright. "You did well," he said, nodding his head as the two began the walk back to the dressing room, where Rachel had left her belongings.

"I didn't do much Jesse, just answered her questions honestly," his client answered, opening the door to the dressing room.

"Well, honesty looks good on you then," Jesse said, bumping into Rachel when she stopped abruptly and stared at the newcomer in the room.

"Sorry, I didn't know there was someone in here," Rachel apologized, looking at the room's occupant in the mirror.

The blonde man put his hand up, halting the movements of the makeup artist that was working on his face. He rose and turned around, an easy smile placing itself on his lips as he reached out a hand towards the brunette, "It's all good. I'm Sam."

"I know," Rachel smiled, taking the offered hand, "I'm Rachel."

"I know," Sam said, letting out a chuckle, "Come on in."

"Sorry to intrude, I just needed to grab my things," Rachel said, picking up her bag and swinging it over one shoulder.

"No problemo," the blonde man said, returning to his seat where the makeup artist continued getting him ready for television. Rachel glanced at Jesse, who was staring at his Blackberry again. "How did your interview go?" Sam asked.

"Well, I think," Rachel said, "I'm still getting used to speaking on camera."

Sam laughed, "Yeah, I don't think anyone ever really gets used to that, unless they do it for a living."

Jesse looked up, "Sam, I heard them saying they would be ready for you soon, so chop-chop."

"What? I'm here!" Sam said, looking at Jesse in the mirror and lifting an open palm as if to say 'What more do you expect me to do?'

"Suck in your cheeks" the makeup artist instructed, and the male tennis player immediately obliged.

"Well, I'm off," Rachel said, "It was nice to meet you Sam." The blonde nodded vigorously, his fish face still firmly in place.

"I'll walk you to the elevator," Jesse said, walking out the door. Rachel came up beside him, and he turned his head to look at her as they walked, "Are you still going to the WTA party tonight?"

"Definitely," Rachel nodded, "will you be there?"

"Nope," the agent said, popping the P, "I have a date."

"With an actual person?" Rachel could help but ask.

Jesse didn't deign to answer, but looked mildly amused as he rolled his eyes when they came to a stop in front of the elevator and he pushed the button, "Roz will be there though, and a couple of other people from IMG. So you'll be well looked after. And I'll be available on my cell, if you need to call."

"I'm pretty sure the rest of your clients and I will be just fine without you for one evening," Rachel answered, the elevator drawing her attention when it binged.

"Famous last words," Jesse smiled, watching as she walked past the now open doors.

Rachel turned around, pushed a button and faced her manager, "Try not to be your usual condescending self, or your date will run screaming for the hills before you can say 'Grand Slam'". The doors began to close, and the teenager lifted a hand to give Jesse a half wave.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he called out, just before the shiny doors closed completely, blocking him from view.

Rachel fished her phone out of her bag, and scrolled through her notifications. She replied to a message from her Dad, confirming that yes, she did want to eat an early dinner before she left for the party that evening. She then checked her WhatsApp notification, which was a picture of Brittany, Whitney and Pierce posing with Jackie Burns and Chandra Lee Schwartz, who were still in costume after that day's matinee performance of Wicked. The tickets had been a present from Rachel's fathers who were aghast that their guests hadn't seen the musical yet. Brittany had followed up the picture with the message, '_You were right Rach, it was absolutely thrillifying_'. The brunette grinned, typing out a quick, '_Told ya!_' as the elevator came to a stop.

The brunette exited the building, looking around for a taxi. She was just about to raise her hand to hail one when a voice caught her attention, "Rachel Berry?"

The tennis player looked behind her, where a man and woman who appeared to be in their late-twenties were looking at her. "Oh my God, it _is_ you!" the woman said, speaking in a strong Australian accent. "I told you it was her, Mark!"

"You weren't wrong!" the man said, his eyes wide. He stuck his hand out, "I'm Mark". Rachel shook his hand, almost automatically. "And this here is Mel. We're _huge_ fans," he added, his accent as strong as his companion's.

"Uh, thanks", Rachel said.

"Yeah" Mel threw in, also shaking Rachel's hand, "We saw your opening round win in Melbourne earlier this year."

Rachel smiled at the pair, more at ease now, "Thank you. Do you live there?"

"Yeah mate, greatest city in the world. Although this one isn't half bad either," he smiled.

"We're actually on our honeymoon," Mel said, lifting up her left hand and showing Rachel her wedding band. "And we love tennis, so we figured, why not come to America and watch the US Open while we're here."

"Oh, congratulations," Rachel said, bobbing her head at the newlyweds.

"Thanks," Mel said, "Well, this is exciting! You're the first tennis player I've ever met, although Mark bumped into Nadal at the Crown a few years ago. Would you mind taking a picture with me?"

"I'd be happy to," Rachel smiled, putting her arm around the woman when her husband aimed his cellphone at them. Other people passing by started to take notice of the trio, their interest further piqued when Mark swapped places with Mel and then tried to take a selfie of all three of them. A few other people came up and asked to take pictures with Rachel, making the teenager wonder just how many of them actually knew who she was, and which ones were just taking pictures with her on the off-chance that she was someone famous. She did, however, make sure to smile extra brightly when posing with people who wished her luck for the upcoming Slam.

While the brunette enjoyed the unexpected fan interaction, it did have a domino effect on the rest of her day; She was thirty minutes late getting to the hairdresser, which meant she got home later than expected, which in turn delayed her arrival at the WTA Players Party.

'_Better late than never_,' Rachel thought as the car pulled to a stop outside the new restaurant. She watched as Brittany stepped out of the vehicle and followed her friend out, making sure to keep her legs together as she slid off the seat. She eyed the ponytailed tall blonde as she rose, appreciating how good the Englishwoman looked in her slim-cut ladies tuxedo, the bow undone at her neck. '_Santana is going to be a very happy woman_,' she thought. The American straightened her own one-shoulder Romona Keveza dress, running her hand down the feather-inspired skirt before standing up straight, tossing her French braid over her bare shoulder and looking up at the restaurant before her.

Tonight's event was a double celebration of sorts because it also marked the launch of Quinn and Francine Fabray's new restaurant, Cheerio. Rachel was glad the WTA had acquiesced to Quinn's request to hold the party there, especially because it showed that the powers-that-be behind women's tennis were happy to support the player after the rough time she'd had over the last few months.

"Rachel, Brittany! Over here!" came the call, the photographer's going trigger happy when the two women turned their way. The pair smiled for the cameras even as Rachel realised that once again she couldn't actually see anything besides flashing lights. They answered the calls of "Who are you wearing?" and obliged the photographers when they asked them to change their stance every so often.

"Remind me to wear sunglasses the next time we have to go to one of these things" Brittany said, talking through her teeth as she kept her smile firmly in place.

They posed for another minute or so before a WTA handler came over and led them inside the restaurant, where the familiar sight of a large step-and-repeat banner welcomed them. Rachel and Brittany both knew the drill by now, and waited a couple of moments before the WTA accredited interviewers were ready to ask them the usual questions – which designer's clothes, shoes and bags they were sporting, what they had been up to so far in New York City, whether they were excited about the year's last major, how they were feeling about their chances and a few other things they were asked before the start of almost every tournament. Rachel's ears picked up Brittany's voice as the blonde excitedly talked about watching Wicked for the first time, and she actually stopped her own interview and looked over with amusement when the young Englishwoman burst into a rendition of Popular. The two friends shared a laugh before wrapping up their individual interviews and walking further inside the restaurant, their media obligations out of the way.

"Do you see San?" Brittany asked, looking around the room.

"Mmm-mm" Rachel answered in the negative, smiling at Fleur Delacour, who had raised a hand in greeting upon spotting the young American. The brunette glanced around, taking in the sight of all the players and their entourages mingling about her. She smiled at the people she knew, and was pleasantly surprised when people she only knew by face smiled at her when they caught her eye, or made small talk when she and Brittany passed them in the room.

"Oh, there she is!" Brittany exclaimed after a while, and Rachel followed her line of sight to see the Latina standing across the room. The Spaniard had her hair down and looked drop dead gorgeous in a nude jumpsuit that she'd accessorized with a silver belt and matching silver heels. '_The world isn't going to know what hit them when these two come out as a couple_,' Rachel thought, unsure as to which woman looked more striking that evening.

Brittany grabbed Rachel's hand and pulled her in the direction of her girlfriend who was still oblivious to their presence. Rachel noticed that Santana was talking to the blonde woman she'd seen in Quinn's box on television during the Olympics. The brunette could only see the woman's profile, but noticed she was wearing a smartly tailored chef's jacket. That, teamed with her familiar features, left no doubt in her mind that the woman in question was Francine Fabray.

Santana spotted the two of them when they were less than ten paces away and her smiled at the sight of her girlfriend. Rachel watched as she gave Brittany a once over, and almost felt like she was intruding on a private moment when the Latina licked her lips, reminding Rachel of one of the hungry wolves she'd seen in a children's cartoon many years ago.

"Hey you," Santana smiled as they came to a halt. She leaned forward to give Brittany a lingering peck on the cheek and smiled happily when the blonde stood close to her side, their shoulders practically touching. "How's it going, Berry?", she said, giving the shorter brunette a once over as well, but not getting the leery look she'd had when checking out her girlfriend, "You clean up well."

"Thank you Santana," Rachel smiled, "and might I say, you look stunning as well."

"Preach," Brittany said, earning herself another googly-eyed smile from her dark-haired girlfriend.

A soft laugh from Quinn's sister drew Rachel's attention to her, "Quinn wasn't kidding when she said you were whipped, San."

Santana looked like she was going to pass a scathing remark but then seemed to think better of it, opting to simply shrug her shoulders and concede the point, so to speak. The shorter blonde turned to Rachel, putting out her hand, "I'm Francine, Quinn's sister. And you're Rachel, right?" The brunette nodded, "My sister speaks highly of you." She turned to Brittany, "And you too Brittany. She says you two have been a great support over the last couple of months, so thank you."

"Oh, there's no need to thank us," Rachel said, and Brittany nodded in agreement, "We're friends. That's what friends do."

Rachel must have said the right thing, because Francine reached up to squeeze her shoulder. Just then, a door that Rachel hadn't actually noticed till that moment swung open behind Santana, and two casually dressed men walked out. They had accreditation passes around their neck, and were carrying video cameras. The door began to close again, but was pushed back open and held in place by a short woman who appeared to be speaking to someone behind her. "Thanks for giving us a behind the scenes tour Quinn."

Rachel searched for the blonde behind the other lady, and heard her before she saw her, "It was my pleasure, Kim. Any extra publicity we get is good for the restaurant."

The World No. 1 emerged from behind the door, followed by an older blonde with distinguished features, her eyes on the short woman ahead of them. Rachel's breath caught at the sight of her; Quinn was a vision in a knee-length dress covered in blood-red lace and heels to match. Rachel was struck by the feeling that she'd seen the blonde like this before, and it took her a moment or two to realise that this Quinn looked eerily similar to the one that she'd seen in her dream the morning of her Wimbledon semifinal. Even her hair was the same, up in a bun with a few strands left loose to frame her face. The brunette could see the blonde's lips moving as she continued to converse with the other woman, but all Rachel could hear was the pounding of her own blood in her ears.

The short woman walked away moments later and Quinn looked up at their little group, smiling when she caught sight of the two newcomers and turning to say something to the older blonde beside her. Rachel felt distinctly lightheaded, and absentmindedly wondered whether she hadn't drunk enough Gatorade after her gym session that morning. No, she'd definitely had the amount she usually did. Maybe she was feeling the effects of missing out on her nap this afternoon?

Quinn and the other lady walked over to them, "Hey Rach," she smiled, "wow, you look beautiful."

Rachel blushed, "You're one to talk, Quinn. You look exquisite." Now it was the blonde's turn to blush. "May I introduce my mother, Judy. Mom, this is Rachel Berry."

"It's lovely to meet you, Mrs. … uh… Ms. ..." Rachel let off, not quite sure how to address the woman.

"Judy is fine," Quinn's mother smiled kindly, "unless you wanted me to call you Ms. Berry?" She looked pleased when Rachel shook her head.

Quinn then turned to the Englishwoman, "You look gorgeous too, Brit. But I can't go too heavy on the compliments with you, not with this one in the room," she said, winking and pointing her thumb at Santana.

"Damn straight, Q," Santana grinned, "Go find your own, this one's taken!" Quinn put her hands up in surrender, but Rachel could have sworn she glanced at her before she did.

"Judy, this is Brittany Pierce," the Latina said, introducing her girlfriend.

Brittany reached out to shake the woman's hand, "Pleasure, Judy."

"Frannie, your sous chef was saying something about not being sure how long to leave the beef cheeks on for," Quinn said, addressing her sister.

"That's my cue," the chef said, "I'll be back!" she added, doing her best impression of Arnold Schwarzenegger before disappearing behind the door Quinn and her mother had emerged from.

Rachel turned to Quinn, "Congratulations on opening your restaurant. The place looks great, and I can't wait to try the food."

Quinn shook her head, "This is Frannie's baby. All the credit should go to her."

"That's not true, Quinn," Judy gently reprimanded her daughter, "You've had a say in everything from the décor to the menu, not to mention the money you've put into the venture. You deserve a sizable portion of the credit." The younger Fabray rolled her eyes, but didn't argue with her mother.

"Why Cheerio?", Brittany asked.

Quinn took a breath, "Frannie used to be on the cheerleading squad of her high school in Miami, and they were called the Cheerios. I was homeschooled, but used to eat Cheerios for breakfast, and we used to joke that the word was the only thing we really had in common back then. So, yeah," she shrugged.

"I like that story," Brittany smiled. "and I like that the name actually means something to the two of you."

"Well, as much as I don't want to, I need to go mingle a little, seeing that this is our big opening and all that jazz," Quinn said, her tone implying that she really wasn't actually looking forward to it. She turned to Rachel, "Come find me every so often?"

Rachel nodded, not missing the fact that the blonde had directed that last sentence at her, "I'll make sure I know where you are at all times."

"You better," Quinn said, an amused look on her face. "Well, don't try to stop us! Here we go," she deadpanned. "Shall we, Mom?"

Rachel watched the two women walk away, her eyes following Quinn till she disappeared into the crowd. Was it just her, or was the room hotter than it should be? She looked around for the air-conditioning vents, missing the silent looks of amusement that passed between Santana and Brittany.


	24. Chapter 24

**Hello everyone. First of all, I'm so sorry I couldn't update as scheduled last week. Life has been very busy of late, and I honestly didn't find the time to sit down and write the way I like to. I'm one of those people that prefers to sit down and write, write, write in one go, or at least do whole scenes in one sitting. That was impossible these last ten days. Every time I sat down to work on the update, something would come up. There were times I wrote whole paragraphs, only to delete them when I sat down to read through them again. This next chapter, which is two scenes, was written over two days. I wrote scene two last night, and have since re-read the chapter just once. So please, let me know what typos and grammatical errors managed to get past me, and I'll correct them stat.**

**Thank you to everyone that has written me feedback and reviews, asked me questions and made observations. They help with my writing, and sometimes even guide my chain of thought when it comes to A Perfect Match. And as usual, thank you to all the new folks that have followed/favourited this story or myself. It's nice to see those numbers going up :) The rest of you can feel free to click those buttons too ;)**

So, this is the update for this week. I hope to be back to my Thursday/Friday updates next week. Just know I'm not going to abandon this story, even if there will be an odd week or two without updates. Abandoned stories/stories on "sabbaticals" are one of my pet peeves, and I don't plan on going down that route. Which is also why I refuse to work on more than one story at a time!

OK, enough rambling! Time to update! Happy reading ya'll!

Rachel unzipped her jacket then sat down to take a few gulps of her two drinks. There was a strong breeze running through the Arthur Ashe Stadium that night, so the brunette had opted to keep the extra layer on during her warm-up.

The young American took a big swig from her bottle of Gatorade; the squeezy bottle was fluorescent yellow, branded with the sports drinks makers logo and hard to miss. Jessie had handed it to her along with a few other bottles in equally eye-catching colours the day Rachel had begun practicing at the USTA Billie Jean King National Tennis Center, saying her new sponsor had requested that she use the bottles on court during matches at the year's final Slam.

The teenager placed the bottle back down on the table beside her, glancing at the crowd as she did so. The Arthur Ashe Stadium was the largest tennis-specific arena in the world, and from Rachel's current vantage point, it was _massive_. She looked around, her eyes skimming over people in the audience doing mundane things like munching on hot dogs and sipping on drinks while they waited for play to start. There were dozens of Star Spangled Banners all around the stadium, which served to remind Rachel of who she was up against that night.

Turning her head just enough, she observed Jane Hayward out of the corner of her eye. The sixteen-year-old was glancing around the stadium in wonder, an expression of awe clear on her features. Rachel empathized with the wild card recipient; playing against a much higher ranked opponent in front of a packed house in the world's largest tennis arena, which just so happens to be in your own country, was a hard task. The fact that the match had been scheduled in the much-touted prime time slot would make the task all the more daunting. Jane was probably even more nervous than Rachel was when stepping onto the hallowed turf of Wimbledon's Center Court for the first time.

Rachel glanced at one of the court clocks, which read 11:05. That was one of the downsides of playing the second match of the night session – the matches often went on well past midnight, especially if the first match was a good one. Tonight's seven o'clock fixture had pitted the men's top seed Cooper Anderson against the American World No. 78 Matt Rutherford, and the homegrown talent had given the higher ranked player a run for his money before losing in five sets. Rachel had been surprised when her opening match was scheduled as the second match of the opening day's night session, which was a slot that usually went to players ranked higher than herself, but Jessie had pointed out that television sponsors would be happy to see the championships pitting two rising American talents against each other on the biggest court of them all.

The umpire announced that they were ready to start so Rachel stood up and walked to her end to receive serve, listening to the crowd applauding both herself and Jane as she made the short trek. The fact that she was playing a fellow American meant that the nonpartisan crowd would cheer for both women, but Rachel was confident her experience playing big matches over the period of the last seven months gave her the edge tonight.

Which is why she didn't know what had hit her when she found herself trailing 0-4 just over seventeen minutes later. She glanced up at her box, where her support team was seated. Shelby was watching her, and nodded her head when she caught Rachel's eye. The young brunette knew what her coach was saying; 'Don't panic. _Keep your head, think about your shots, stay focused._' Her Daddy, who always got more nervous about Rachel's matches than the teenager herself, seemed to have left the box. She could picture him pacing up and down just outside the double doors leading to the seats, watching the television screens with his fingers crossed. Her Papa was looking right at her, attempting to give her a reassuring smile. And Jessie was staring down in the direction of his lap, probably texting someone. Sometimes Rachel swore that the man's cellphone's, yes, plural, were an extension of his actual hands.

Rachel crouched down, ready to receive serve. So far Jane had held serve twice, and broken Rachel twice, and the momentum was undeniably with the younger girl. She was walking around with a bounce in her step, pumping her fist in the direction of her own box after coming up trumps at the end of the longer rallies and hitting the ball ridiculously hard for outright winners that her higher ranked opponent couldn't get a racket too. Rachel watched her hop up and down in place, almost moving at the same pace as the ball she was bouncing. '_Try and look for a pattern, figure out the play before the ball's even come your way_,' she heard Shelby's voice say in her head, and focused on Jane's hand, which was in the motion of tossing the ball up.

'Has she been tossing the ball that high all night?' Rachel found herself wondering a split second before a powerful flat serve down the T came her way. Fortunately for the World No. 17 the ball clipped the net and fell back onto Jane's side of the court. She watched Jane line up for her second serve, which came with a noticeably lower ball toss that was also thrown up just that _little_ bit in front of the baseline; another fact that Rachel filed away to memory. This one was a kick serve that went out wide to Rachel's forehand at a reasonable 90 miles per hour, and she was easily able to get it into play before approaching the net to hit a volley winner a few shots in to the rally. When Jane threw the ball high up again at 0-30, Rachel knew to expect a flat serve down the middle, and hit a cracking return winner to give herself three break points. She looked across the net with determination, knowing the 16-year-old would be feeling a lot of pressure at that moment, and seconds later Rachel was on the board, now trailing 1-4.

She sat down at the change of ends, ate the last bite of a banana she'd slowly been munching on, and looked up at her box again after getting rid of the skin. Shelby was looking at her and Rachel took a brief moment to appreciate how her coach always managed to be encouraging and supportive in a match, even when she couldn't actually say anything to her charge. The former player was nodding again, and this time Rachel knew it was because she was on the right track. At least when it came to receiving serve. Now all Rachel had to do was figure out how to hold her own damn serve!

The brunette glanced around, inwardly groaning because the heavy breeze, her tormentor tonight, hadn't died down at all. The young American had never played in conditions that were this windy before, and so far, her ball tosses had been absolutely appalling. The light balls were moving around in the fierce gust, not going where they normally would, and as a consequence, Rachel was having to improvise her serves mere milliseconds before the ball met her racket.

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath to calm herself. '_Think_,' she willed herself, before opening her eyes and staring straight ahead of her at a couple of fans that were holding up a large American flag. Suddenly, Rachel noticed the way the flag was fluttering and a light bulb went off in her head. Glancing around at the other flags dispersed around the stadium was enough to confirm her theory and she nodded, almost imperceptibly, happy with her findings.

When Rachel walked to the baseline to serve, she knew she would be serving into a consistent wind that appeared to be blowing South to North, at least for the moment. She had run through everything her junior coaches, her mentors at the USTA and Shelby had taught her about playing in windy conditions, and she was damned if she was going to walk out of the Arthur Ashe Stadium without at least putting up a decent fight.

Seventy-six minutes later, the few dozen people that had stayed to watch the end of the match applauded Rachel and her vanquished opponent as they exited the court at almost one in the morning. The World No. 17 had put on a master class in how to play in less-than-desirable windy conditions – she'd tossed the ball lower than usual, giving it less room to move around. She'd hit fast, flat serves when she had the wind at her back. She'd kept her eyes on the ball the whole time it was in play, watching it come on to her racket, and tracking it as it zoomed off in the opposite direction again. She'd chipped the ball over Jane so she was far behind the baseline, then hit unreachable drop shots into the wind.

Rachel took in the sight of Jane's slumped shoulders on the walk back to the locker rooms, and would be lying if she said she didn't feel sorry for the girl. The sixteen-year-old probably thought this was going to be her night, especially after the cracking start she'd had. Maybe she had even thought ahead, and imagined what she would have said in the post match press conference. God knows Rachel had done exactly that during her match against Quinn at Roland Garros.

Tennis was brutal. So yes, Rachel sympathized with young Jane Hayward. But no way in hell was she ever going to voluntarily swap places with anyone she got the better of on court.

* * *

Rachel covered a wide yawn with the back of her hand, glancing around the player's cafeteria. The brunette was exhausted; it was four in the morning by the time she'd gotten home after her post-match cool down, press conference and massage, and she was back on court for a scheduled practice session at 1 p.m. Fortunately for her Shelby had been sympathetic, so they'd only had a very light hit, the purpose of which was mainly to keep Rachel limber for her second round match the next day.

"What time did Jesse say he'd be here?" Shelby asked, taking a sip of her lemonade.

"2:30," Rachel answered, clearly not pleased that her agent was already running twenty minutes late.

"Yeah, I'm starting to think he has punctuality issues. He was late for our date too." Shelby said, her tone nonchalant.

Rachel was about to yawn again but the shock of what she'd just heard temporarily chased the drowsiness away, "You and Jesse went on a date?," she asked, eyes wide.

Shelby shrugged, "Yeah, the night of the WTA's pre-tournament party."

The older brunette seemed pretty blasé about the whole thing, so Rachel decided to tone down her own reaction a little bit. After all, Shelby and Jesse were both adults. Even if one was obviously more of an adult than the other. "How was the date?"

"It was alright," Shelby answered, before looking contemplative, "I'm not sure I'd do it again though."

"Because you're-," Rachel started, then considered her choice of words and decided some rephrasing was necessary, "Uh, because he's so much younger than you?"

Shelby let out an amused "Ha!," then maintained eye contact with Rachel as she took another sip of her drink before answering, "I'll have you know, toy boy's are all the rage these days." She smiled when Rachel blushed, an apologetic look on the younger brunette's features, "We actually had a great time, to be honest. He's a great conversationalist, especially when he talks about things besides himself."

"So you wouldn't mind going on another date with him?" Rachel asked, receiving a noncommittal shrug from her coach, which prompted her ask, "Do you think _he_ isn't interested in another date?"

The veteran player shook her head, "No, quite the opposite really. He texted me the next morning asking if I was interested in seeing him outside of a professional setting again." Rachel frowned, not understanding what the problem was if both Shelby and Jesse were interested in a second date. Her coach continued, "I just don't see the point in continuing to date him if this…whatever this is, will end the moment you and I are back on the road again."

Realization dawned on Rachel, "So you'd like to be in a relationship with someone."

"Yes," Shelby agreed, "which is easier said than done when you're on the road for nine months of the year."

Rachel's mind had just flashed back to the conversation she'd had with her Papa about Santana and Brittany's relationship when Jesse half-jogged into the room and approached their table, "I'm so sorry I'm late, ladies," he apologized. "I just had some damage control, well, not really damage control, more like, news-shaping, to do."

"News-shaping?" Shelby asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Yes, news-shaping" Jesse said again. "In fact, let me save you the trouble of having to read a print of today's biggest sports-related news; Finn Hudson and Marley Rose are America's new favourite athletic-couple.

For the second time in the space of mere minutes, Rachel felt her exhaustion leave her body, "What? When did that happen?"

"In London, apparently. When Hudson was there to cheer on Fabray at the Olympics. So for the next few days news feeds will be inundated with articles about how Rose has stolen Hudson from her fellow-star Fabray, how the two ladies are at war over this betrayal, how Hudson felt like Fabray had shut him out during her recent Daddy-related woes, etcetera, etcetera. Oh, and don't even get me started on the media circus that will surround the next matchup between Fabray and Rose. I'll bet you anything that sponsors are hoping the two make it to the finals of the US Open," Jesse said, grinning.

"Ok, first of all, Marley and Quinn are in the same half, so they would meet in the semis, not the finals," Rachel stated, earning an annoyed huff from her agent. "And secondly, Quinn and Finn were never dating."

"Oh, I know that," Jesse agreed, "but no one believes that's true. Hell, even Hudson and Fabray stopped denying it in the press after the hundredth time someone wrote an article about their relationship. Hence why Hudson dating Marley is big news. He's going to be in her box for her opening game today. Which I actually need to go watch soon."

Rachel knew that Marley was one of Jesse's other clients, so she wasn't surprised that her agent would be watching the World No. 4 play her opening match. She half-listened to Shelby comment on the press' overzealous quest for gossip as she quickly typed out a text to Quinn, '_So I'm guessing you're aware that Finn is dating Marley, and the news is about to change the world as we know it? :p_'. Hitting send, she returned her attention to Jesse, "So, what did you want to see me for?"

"Well, I was looking at your Instagram account last night, and you have something like one hundred and thirty thousand followers, which, you know, isn't terrible. But we need to get that number up," he said.

"Why, exactly?" Rachel asked. She didn't know what to expect when Jesse said had asked to have a quick word with her after her practice session, but this was definitely not what she expected the topic of conversation to be.

"Because popularity with fans equals popularity with sponsors equals more endorsements for you," Jesse said, making it sound as if it was obvious.

Rachel's phone buzzed, and she looked down at the phone to see two replies from Quinn. She opened the thread.

_Quinn Fabray_ – **Yes. But on the bright side, I get to spend more time with my favourite people, the paparazzi. I can hardly wait for today's post-match conference.**

_Quinn Fabray_ – **Seriously though, has the story already broken? Couldn't they have picked a day I didn't have a match on to go to press with it?**

Rachel looked up at Jesse, realizing that she couldn't actually remember much of what he'd said about why she needed to get more followers on Instagram. "Right, so, Jesse, I was wondering, has the press already gotten a hold of the story about Finn and Marley?"

"Uh yeah, which is why I was news-shaping, that is, figuring out the best way to spin it for now," he said.

"Why today, though? I mean, Marley has a game starting soon. Wouldn't she rather avoid the distraction?" Shelby asked, saving Rachel the trouble.

"Someone spotted them when they were out on a date last night. The press has pictures of them kissing," Jesse said, before needlessly adding, "which is something people sometimes do on dates. Maybe not first ones, but maybe on second ones?"

Shelby looked as amused as Rachel felt at Jesse's words, and Rachel allowed whatever was transpiring between her coach and agent to play out as she quickly typed out a reply to Quinn, '_They were out on a date last night, Sir! The press got pictures, Sir! I think it was unavoidable, Sir!_' She hit send, just as Jesse was turning back to face her.

"So, as I was saying Rachel, it would be good to post a few more pictures on Instagram, you know, interact with fans a little more. If you don't want to do it yourself then I can take control of your account. Or the team at IMG can create a new public Instagram account for you and handle the whole shebang."

"No thank you," Rachel said quickly, "I'll take more pictures. How many are we talking? A week, I mean."

"Not a lot. Two, maybe? Maybe more during the Slams? It's just to let a little bit of your personality show through," he replied.

Rachel nodded. She didn't relish the idea of going out of her way to do something just to make herself more attractive to sponsors, but she also knew that Jesse, as her agent, was right. This was her career, after all, from which she made a living. And there was nothing wrong with making a little extra money from associating herself with brands and companies that she genuinely believed in. After all, Jesse gave her the final say on which endorsements to green light and didn't push her to sign any deals she didn't want to. Like the French skincare brand that had offered her big money to endorse a line of products that she'd realized were tested on animals.

"Ok," Rachel agreed, "Is that all?"

Jesse shook his head, "I also want to set up a Facebook fan page for you, which my team at IMG will handle. It won't be linked to your personal account, so don't worry. Speaking of your personal account, you need to change your name on there unless you want a hundred friend requests everyday for the rest of your life."

Rachel nodded, that was something she'd already thought of and had been meaning to change. "And," Jesse continued, "I think you should set up a Twitter account."

The young brunette opened her mouth to protest, but Jesse held up a hand, "Twitter is where everything is at these days. It's the only other thing you really need besides the Instagram account."

Rachel's phone buzzed, "Will I get to write the tweets myself?" she asked, unlocking her phone.

"Yeah, if that's what you want, sure, you can write all your own tweets. I will ask you to run them by me before you post them though. I've seen too many intelligent people put up too many stupid things on there. And you can't take things back once you hit send in the cyber world."

Rachel glanced down at the message on her screen.

_Quinn Fabray_ – **Haha! You're such a dork! Well, no one's said anything in the locker room yet, and I haven't received any sympathetic stares either. So I guess the fire-free smoke hasn't started to conjure up distorted signals yet. Winning!**

"Ok, I can live with that" Rachel agreed, locking her phone screen. "Is that all?"

Jesse nodded, "Yeah. I still have about ten minutes till I need to leave for Marley's game though. Did you ladies want something to drink? I'm going get a coffee."

"I can do a coffee," Shelby said, earning her a smile from what in Rachel's eyes looked like a pretty smitten Jesse.

The brunette shook her own head, standing up, "No, I'm going to get going. Thanks for your advice Jesse," she said, before looking at Shelby, "and I'll see you at dinner tonight, right? Daddy's looking forward to feeding you."

"And I can't wait to try his famous roast" Shelby nodded.

Rachel bade the two members of her team goodbye, before walking from the player's cafeteria, through the player's lounge and into the women's locker rooms, exchanging greetings with people she knew along the way. The locker room was buzzing with activity, which was expected since it was just the second day of the fortnight-long tournament. Still, it didn't take Rachel very long to spot Quinn Fabray standing near the lockers. The blonde was clad in a sleeveless black Nike dress and black Nike shoes, and was just putting on her visor-cap without the aid of a mirror when Rachel tapped her on the shoulder.

"Need some help with that?" Rachel asked, earning a smile from the World No. 1, who wordlessly let her hands drop so her friend could adjust the Velcro strap on the back of her head. "Is that too tight?" Rachel asked.

"No, it's good" Quinn answered, turning to face the brunette. "So, to what do I owe this pleasure?" she asked, eyes twinkling, "The last I checked, you won your first round match last night."

Rachel felt herself blushing under the blonde's scrutiny, "I just wanted to make sure you were ok. You know, with…" she said, gesturing vaguely.

"God, you're just as bad as Marley," Quinn laughed, "she just left for her match. But yes, I'm fine. A little annoyed at Finn, but fine."

"What'd Finn do?" Rachel asked.

Quinn lowered her voice, "He called me this morning to tell me some photographers had caught him and Marley out on their date. I didn't even know they were dating! I mean, the sparks were obvious in London, but I didn't realize either of them had acted on it."

"So you were mad because he didn't tell you?" Rachel asked.

"Oh, no, I'm really happy for them. It's just that Finn sometimes has a knight in shining armour complex, which makes him do idiotic things like tell me he's happy to look like the bad guy when the story breaks. Which makes no sense. He said he'd take the heat, since I'd already had a rough time in the press thanks to Dad. And that's why I'm so mad! There's nothing to take the heat for! It's not our fault those darned so-called journalists didn't want to believe us when we said we weren't dating!"

"Yeah, that doesn't make sense" Rachel said, trying to follow the offensive guard's line of reasoning. "Was he going to say he cheated on you?"

"I don't actually think he had any fully formed plans besides walking into a room full of reporters and saying it's all his fault" Quinn answered, rolling her eyes. "He's going to be in Marley's box today, so I expect the story to break any minute now. Thankfully I should be on court by the time people catch on."

Rachel grinned, then stifled a yawn that had snuck up on her. "I saw that" Quinn said, her expression as stern as her tone. "You need to go home and get some rest. What time's your match tomorrow?"

"Three in the afternoon" Rachel said.

"Ok" Quinn nodded, "if all goes to plan then I'll be here for a hit at one. How about I stop by in the locker room to see you before?"

"Sir, yes Sir!" Rachel said, earning herself a slap on the arm from the blonde. "I'm going to watch your match when I get home."

"I'll do my best to impress then" Quinn smiled, before happily accepting the parting hug she received from the brunette.

"Good luck Quinn. Go knock 'em dead" Rachel said, giving the World No. 1 another lingering smile before turning and leaving.


	25. Chapter 25

**Hi everyone. Please believe me when I say I'm terribly sorry for the delay in posting an update. I pride myself on sticking to a routine but it has been increasingly hard to have a new chapter ready to post on my preferred Thursday/Friday update schedule. In fact, I only seem to get time to actually write on Thursday nights and Sundays, so chances are that I will increasingly post on Monday's Australia time. Again, rest assured that I am committed to finishing this story, and making sure I update regularly. **

**As usual, thank you to everyone that has followed/favourited either myself or this story. A Perfect Match now has more than 250 followers, which is amazing. I'm glad that so many people, from so many different countries, seem to be enjoying this little figment of my imagination. I am pleased to say that I enjoy writing it just as much. Also, I extend my gratitude to everyone that has taken the time to write me a review, feedback or made an observation. I enjoy the interaction with my readers.**

**I did get a few comments about the Shelby-Jesse pairing, and as I have said in my replies to feedback, putting them together was a spur of the moment decision made as I was writing the scene. I did have a few people wanting me to go with a Sue-Shelby pairing, and while I did mull over the possibility, I opted not to go down that road. I want a Perfect Match to be realistic, and in my mind, having an entire universe of same-sex couples wouldn't be realistic. I am very glad that my readers seem to think the pairing makes sense in this story :)**

And with that, I present Chapter 25. Happy reading, everyone!

Rachel walked past her opponent who was still sipping on her drink as she crossed the net to head over to the other side of the court. Her gaze fell to the scoreboard, and the brunette marveled at the figures – 6-all in the first set, with the tiebreaker poised just as evenly at 6-all. '_I guess that's what happens when you know someone's game so well_', the American teen thought, turning when she reached the baseline and waiting patiently for her opponent, Brittany S. Pierce, to resume play.

Rachel's eyes darted upwards, and for the umpteenth time that night she was struck by how strange it was to see Whitney and Pierce not sitting next to her own father's, who were seated diagonally across the Pierce's in her box. The brunette had noticed that her best friend's parents weren't refraining from applauding for her, and she'd seen her own parents clapping for Brittany as well.

The teenager crouched as the tall blonde bounced a ball a couple of times before sending a serve out wide to her forehand. A linesman called out "Fault!"; neither woman had managed to get her nose ahead with a mini-break yet thanks to some excellent first serves, and Rachel suddenly sensed an opportunity here. Like a shark that had caught the scent of blood in the water, she took a small step inside the baseline. She kept her eyes on the ball as it was thrown in the air and was almost surprised when the Englishwoman landed her second serve in the exact same spot she'd sent the previous one to. Rachel ripped a return to Brittany's weaker forehand side and would have been in position to put an easy volley winner away if her opponent hadn't netted the return.

She walked back to the service line, listening to the chair umpire's voice rising above the cheers coming from the crowd gathered in the Louis Armstrong Stadium, "7-6, Berry."

'_One point, and the set is yours_,' Rachel thought. Taking a deep breath, she nodded at the ball boy standing before her with his left arm raised above his head. He bounced one ball her way, then a second, then a third. Rachel placed all three on the strings of her racket and after perusing them for two seconds returned what, to her, appeared to be the fuzziest one to the waiting boy. She slipped one ball into her compression shorts as she turned around, and stepped up to the service line clutching the other bright orb.

Rachel glanced up at her opponent, her best friend, who looked utterly focused as she waited for the serve. Both girls had known this day was coming ever since they'd seen the draw for the tournament, but neither had stated the obvious. The closest they'd come to acknowledging the inevitable was last night.

Ever since they'd begun playing on the junior circuit, Rachel and Brittany had made it a habit to text the other the night before a match to ask how the other was feeling about the next day. They'd swap a few messages discussing strategies before the girl not playing the match wished the one playing the match good luck for the next day, and then they'd bid one another pleasant dreams. They only strayed from his routine four times - when they were scheduled to play _one another_ the next day. The first time such a situation arose, a fifteen-year-old Rachel lay in bed the night before the match wondering what she should do. Her problem was solved when her phone buzzed with a message from her British friend, stating '_Good night Rach :)_'. It was identical to the text Brittany had sent her last night, before their fourth round clash at the US Open.

Rachel bounced the ball, her mind going over serve choices as she did. The decision made, the brunette adjusted her grip and sent a kick serve to Brittany's forehand, opting to take some of the pace off the serve in return for a higher chance of landing a first serve. The move paid off when Brittany sent an easy return to Rachel's backhand, and simultaneously created a wide gap to her left. The American had a split second to make a decision – try and hit the winner, at the same time risking the possibility of Brittany getting back into position and hitting a great shot off her stronger backhand side, or get a rally going by hitting an easily retrievable shot to the Englishwoman's forehand side. Strangely enough, it was Brittany's own voice that popped into Rachel's head, uttering one of the Englishwoman's favourite lines, "_No guts, no glory. Right?_"

The teenager stepped forward with her right leg, bending her knees ever so slightly as her racket connected with the ball and springing up as she whipped a singlehanded crosscourt backhand. The ball left her racket with such ferocity that her opponent was barely able to get a racket to it. Rachel's gamble had paid off, and even Brittany applauded the shot by tapping the strings of her racket against the palm of her left hand.

"First set Berry, 7-6. Berry leads one set to love," the umpire stated as the player's walked to their seats.

Rachel hydrated herself before pulling a little notebook out of her kit bag and glancing at the notes she'd written in preparation for today's match. There were things she'd discussed with Shelby, like the importance of switching things up against an opponent who knew Rachel's game like the back of her palm. At the same time, her coach had counseled her to not constantly fight her natural instincts just to stay unpredictable. Shelby had said that even the most predictable shot can be impossible to return when executed well and wanted Rachel to have faith in the game that had made her a top twenty player in less than a year. Rachel reread the line in her book – _Predictable precision trumps unpredictable errors_. The brunette was pretty sure those words wouldn't make sense to anyone else but her.

Her eyes continued to skim over her notes, which were all written in blue ink save for the last line. Those bright green words had been written mere hours ago in the curvy handwriting of Quinn Fabray.

The World No. 1 had called Rachel the previous evening asking her what time she would be at the USTA Billie Jean King National Tennis Center to warm up for her Round of 16 match, and had offered to hit with Rachel before she went on court. The younger American had immediately agreed to the generous offer, and was surprised when Quinn had asked to look at Rachel's notes for the match before they'd actually begun to hit that morning. She watched as the blonde's hazel eyes wordlessly danced over the words on the paper before she nodded, passed the book back to Rachel and walked over to one end of the indoor practice court. For the next thirty minutes Quinn hit the ball more or less how Rachel's notes stated she expected Brittany to play, and the brunette was almost scared by how well the blonde could adapt to a style different from her own.

Rachel had stopped to take a few gulps of her drink between hits, needing to make sure she was properly hydrated before the match, and watched as Quinn jogged over to Shelby. The two women seemed to discuss something before her coached lifted her hand a few inches in the air and Quinn nodded. The blonde turned around, and instead of going back to the baseline she beckoned Rachel over to the net. "Brittany is about this tall," the blonde said, lifting her hand to approximately the same height Rachel had seen Shelby raise her hand to. "Which means," she continued, "her serves will come at you from about a meter-and-a-half higher, right?"

Rachel nodded; she had played against Brittany before, and always had to adapt to the higher bounce her friend managed to generate, especially on her serves. "Ok, so I figured I'd send you some serves from the service line. That way I can mimic the power of Brittany's serves, and also try and get you to play the ball at a steeper angle. Ok?"

The brunette nodded again, and reached out to rest a hand on Quinn's arm just as the blonde was turning to walk back to the service line, "Thank you Quinn. I know you don't have to do this, and I appreciate you being here."

The World No. 1 smiled and quickly patted Rachel's hand, "I get really stressed before I have to play Santana. Every single time. To the extent that I sometimes forget very obvious things about her game. I figured you might have the same problem with Brittany."

As promised, Quinn went on to send fast, bouncy serves Rachel's way. The blonde had once again asked for the notebook before they'd parted ways that morning and, using her own pen, wrote down '_Step forwards to cut down the angle on the serve and hit the return on the rise when possible._' Those were the words Rachel was staring at when the umpire called time.

Based on her previous encounters against Brittany, the American expected the second set to be just as closely contested as the first. In anything, she thought her friend would begin the new set with the gloves off, so to speak, now that she was trailing. She had seen her English friend pull herself out of worse situations in the past and believed she had a battle on her hands if she wanted to make it to the quarterfinals. That's why she was almost baffled when Brittany began making uncharacteristic errors while attempting shots Rachel had never seen the blonde try before, even in practice. It was like watching physical proof of why Shelby had advised her charge not go against her instincts just to be unpredictable. Brittany's new game plan was not working, and by the time the Englishwoman decided to go back to her natural game Rachel was already up two breaks of serve.

The two friends embraced at the next when Rachel won the second set six games to two. Rachel could see the disappointment in Brittany's eyes, but also knew the smile her English friend was aiming at her was genuine. "Round one, Berry" she said, an arm still placed around the short brunette's shoulders.

"And this is just the beginning, Brit. I think we'll be seeing a lot of each others ugly mugs across the net," Rachel grinned back, wrapping her own arm around Brittany's waist as the two friends walked towards the chair umpire.

Much later that evening, after post-match conferences, ice baths and massages, the Berry's ate dinner with the Pierce's at a restaurant in Greenwich Village with the day's winner picking up the tab for their meal. Good conversation and laughter flowed as the two families dug into their meals, and an exhausted Rachel found herself leaning her head on her tall blonde friend's shoulder as their plates were cleared away. She asked a passing waitress to take a picture of the six of them on her cell phone while they waited for dessert. The young woman was a good sport, and retook the picture thrice before everyone was happy with how they looked. Logging into Instagram, the American teenager tweaked the picture a little bit before posting it with the caption, _Ohana means family_.

* * *

Rachel took the last sip of her drink, turning the page of the well-worn August 2012 issue of the Australian Tennis Magazine. The American had gotten the copy off Asami Sato, who had beckoned the teenager over when she'd walked into the very full Player's Lounge carrying a takeaway cup full of steaming hot green tea that she'd just gotten at the Player's Cafeteria. Rachel had properly met the Japanese player at the pre-tournament party at Cheerio and had thoroughly enjoyed conversing with her before the teenager had politely excused herself when Quinn shot her a '_Please come save me_' look from across the room. A few days later Asami's coach, Tenzin Aang, had contacted Shelby to set up a practice session between the two, after which the two players had grabbed a quick bite together at the Champions Bar &amp; Grill near the Arthur Ashe Stadium. Rachel had quickly learned that Asami's intelligence outshone her physical beauty, which said a lot, which is why she didn't hesitate before joining the slightly older raven-haired woman at the little round table.

The duo had chatted for a little bit before Asami had taken off to warm-up for her Round of 16 match that was scheduled for later that afternoon, leaving Rachel with the magazine that she herself had gotten off Luna Lovegood, who in turn had borrowed it from Kitty Wilde, who had grabbed it off Sam Evans, and that was where Asami lost track of it's chain of ownership. The Japanese woman had laughingly pointed out that the magazine had most likely made its way to New York courtesy an Australian player, and had half-seriously made the teenager promise to pass it on to someone who would cherish it enough to not leave coffee stains on it's pages when she was done reading it.

Rachel was reading an article about how to execute the perfect overhead smash when her nose picked up the scent of coffee seconds before someone plopped themselves down in the chair that Asami had vacated more than half an hour earlier. "Don't mind me," Quinn Fabray said, not looking at the brunette as she placed a copy of Harry Potter &amp; The Prisoner of Azkaban on the table before opening it to a page marked by a bookmark.

The teenager stared at the blonde's profile with a smile on her lips, happy with this unexpected surprise. Then a thought struck her, causing the space between her brows to crease with mild confusion. "Quinn?" she started, getting the World No. 1's attention. The blonde turned to look at her, curiosity on her own features. "Weren't you reading The Half-Blood Prince in Cincinnati?" The brunette was dead sure she'd seen a copy of the book in the apartment Quinn and Santana had shared when they were playing there a few weeks ago.

"Yeah?" Quinn said, before realization dawned on her own features. "Oh, I read the Harry Potter books during tournaments. In fact, I always travel with all seven."

"Is it a superstitious thing?" Rachel wondered aloud.

"No," Quinn replied, shaking her head, "Its more of a focus thing, really. I like to read, but sometimes a good book can really mess with your concentration when you haven't finished it yet. Well, at least with me it can. So I try to avoid starting a new book during tournaments, and I _absolutely_ don't during the Slams. _And_ I can now quote Harry Potter in my sleep."

Rachel giggled, earning a grin from her friend. "When's the last time you broke that rule?" she asked.

"Last year. Exactly around this time. I couldn't resist reading A Dance With Dragons. In fact, Sue insists its why I lost in the semis," Quinn shrugged.

"And what do you think?" Rachel asked, a smile still dancing upon her lips.

"I think Kitty Wilde blew me off the court. And it had nothing to do with me wondering how long Arya Stark would stay blind for," Quinn answered with a twinkle in her eye. The two women shared a quiet laugh and the blonde asked Rachel where she'd managed to get the obviously Australian magazine that she was reading. The top-ranked player sipped her coffee as the teenager retold the story she'd just heard from Asami, and Rachel promised to give her the magazine next after Quinn assured her that magazines didn't mess with her focus during matches.

The two players looked up when a large shadow loomed across their table, and Rachel's eyes widened when she saw Emma Pillsbury standing beside Shelby. The pair of newcomers sat down in the two remaining chairs at their table, and Rachel noticed that a few people in the Player's Lounge were throwing curious glances at their little party of four.

"Sorry I'm late," Emma said to Quinn, who shrugged and said it was no problem. "How long do you have?"

Rachel stared on with curiosity, wondering what was going on. The blonde glanced at her wristwatch, "I need to get going in about fifteen."

"It's my fault, really," Shelby said, and now Rachel was really lost. "Emma ran into me while I was waiting for Rachel's rackets to be restrung, and she said she'd wait for me because she knew I wanted to be here for this."

All three women turned to Rachel, who was feeling more and more like a deer in headlights. It was Emma who spoke, "How are you, Rachel?"

"Good, thanks Emma. And you?" Rachel answered automatically, the good manners her father's had instilled in her coming to the fore.

"I'm great," Emma smiled. "I'm sure you're confused about what's going on, so let me get straight to it. How do you feel about joining the Fed Cup team?"

Rachel blinked, her eyes darting over the faces of the three women. She absentmindedly noticed Quinn putting the bookmark back into the third book in the Harry Potter series before closing the hardcover copy and looking back at the brunette. Shelby was positively beaming, and Emma's gaze was intently fixed on her own. The brunette blinked again, "Uh, isn't this the part where I wake up?"

Quinn let out a short bark of laughter, "I should have filmed this!"

Shelby reached for her young charge's hand and gave it a quick, hard pinch, causing Rachel to let out a low yelp. "See, you're still awake," the coach pointed out unnecessarily, earning herself a glare in return.

"We aren't kidding, Rachel. The US is playing against the French on the third, fourth and fifth of November, and I know for a fact that the Fédération Française de Tennis is going to pick the red clay of Roland Garros as the venue. They're going to make an official announcement after the US Open concludes. I saw you play at the French Open earlier this year, and based on your other results on clay I know your quarterfinal run was no fluke. In fact, your results throughout the year have proven that you're a champion in the making. Everyone at the USTA agrees with me, which is why we'd like you on board," Emma finished.

"And you two knew about this?" Rachel asked, turning her attention to Quinn and Shelby, a slightly wild look in her eyes.

Emma spoke up again, "I called Shelby this morning to let her know that I planned to speak with you today. And Quinn and I have discussed you a few times over the past couple of months, and she's always vouched for you, both as a player _and_ a potential teammate. So, what do you say?"

"Oh God, do you really need me to say it? Yes, yes, yes. I'd love to be on the squad!" Rachel laughed.

"Great," Emma smiled. "We've set up a conference here in New York for the day after the US Open ends, which will be the eleventh of September, where we'll announce the squad. You don't have to be there, but I just thought you should know." Rachel nodded, and Emma thrust her hand in her direction, "Congratulations, Rachel Berry."

The brunette reached out and shook the redhead's hand vigorously before Shelby, who was seated to her right, pulled the teenager into a one-armed hug. "Congrats, Rach. I'm so proud of you," the coach said, causing a rush of unexpected happy tears that the brunette quickly blinked back.

"Of _us_," Rachel stated after pulling back, "My game owes a lot to you, Shelby."

The teenager turned to her friend and fellow player who had been quietly observing the interaction between Rachel and her coach, "I didn't want to ruin the surprise," Quinn said in acknowledgement of the question she'd been asked earlier.

"I know" Rachel smiled, turning her body to fully face the blonde, "I would have done the same thing in your place. I think I was little bit overwhelmed, that's all."

A look of relief crossed Quinn's face, "That's understandable, Rach. I cried the first time I made the squad. Also, I asked Emma if I could be here when she broke the news. I hope you don't mind."

"I'm _really_ glad you're here," Rachel said, reaching out to squeeze Quinn's forearm. And thank you for putting in a good word for me."

"Hey," Quinn said, raising her hands so her open palms faced Rachel, "I only speak the truth." The two women shared a smile, before Quinn added, "Like they said, congratulations. And welcome to the team."

The teenager laughed, realizing that the fact hadn't really sunk in yet. And she would be playing in the finals, no less! That is, _if_ she was selected to play an actual match. Rachel could feel butterflies doing the Macarena in her belly at the very idea.

She looked back up at the blonde and saw her own joy mirrored in the hazel eyes looking back at her.


	26. Chapter 26

**Hello everyone! First of all, I am terribly sorry for making you wait this long for an update. That said, the size of this chapter will tell you why it's taken me so long to write it. Half of it was ready last Monday, and I've chipped at the rest as I've gone. Here's a fair warning to everyone - This chapter is very, very heavy on the tennis. So if you don't like reading about the actual sport then I suggest just skimming to the end to see what happens. Although I don't think anyone should be reading this story that way. As I've said again and again, Rachel's career and her progression as a tennis player is a central arc of this story.**

**Thank you for all the PM's, reviews, feedback and follows/likes that myself and my story have received in the last few weeks. It is always nice to hear another persons take on something that comes from your mind, and any appreciation or critiques are always well received by yours truly.**

**Life has gotten extremely busy of late, and doesn't look like it's going to slow down for the next couple of weeks. That's why I ask in advance that you forgive me if I make you wait longer than expected for updates. If I could I would spend more time writing this piece, but sometimes real life has to take priority. I just hope the actual updates are worth the wait. And fyi, I will probably go back to my usual sized updates from next time. This one just had a lot happening in it!**

Also, the US Open starts next week. I suggest you watch the tennis, especially because Serena Williams might complete a calendar year Slam, which hasn't happened since Steffi Graf pulled off the impossible more than two decades ago.

And now, here's the long awaited update! Enjoy! (I'm updating in haste, so please let me know if any errors have slipped past me!)

"I'm just gonna grab some snacks," Rachel said, taking off in the direction of the kitchen as Shelby busied herself plugging a USB stick into the side of the Berry's gigantic flat screen TV. When she returned, carrying a chips-and-dip platter filled with pita bread, carrot sticks, celery sticks and humus in one hand and a plate full of her Daddy's homemade sweet potato chips in the other, her coach was comfortably settled on the leather couch, the television screen before her paused. The teenager placed the food on the coffee table and sat down beside Shelby, who reached for a carrot stick before checking the open notebook in her lap.

"Ok," the older brunette said, pointing the remote at the television and hitting play, "let's start with the serves." Rachel looked at the screen, which Shelby was now fast-forwarding through, before she hit the pause button again. "Pay attention to where she lands the serves. And keep an eye on the scoreboards too."

Rachel reached beside her and opened her own notebook, placing it in her lap, her pen hovering over a blank page. This wasn't the first time she'd be competing against the top-ranked player, but both Shelby and Rachel had agreed to watch the video's with fresh eyes and only refer to their old notes after they were done penning down today's observations on Quinn's game. She watched on-screen Quinn land serve after serve, the footage a compilation of dozens of matches the World No.1 had played over the last few years. The young American scribbled down her observations, knowing Shelby would want to hear her own thoughts first before offering her own advice. The former player encouraged Rachel to think for herself, constantly reminding her that she had to rely on herself when she was out on court. It was also why Shelby had made it clear from the beginning that she would not make herself available for on-court coaching during WTA tournaments, regardless of the women's tour's stance on the matter.

On-screen Quinn kept serving, and Rachel quietly admired the command she had over the range of serves in her repertoire. The brunette also found herself paying attention to things that had nothing to do with the blonde's game – like how stunning she looked in the sleeveless sunshine-yellow dress she'd worn for the day-sessions at the 2011 Australian Open, how pretty her slightly longer hair at the 2010 French Open had looked in a French braid, and how young and bright eyed she seemed to be on the way to winning her first Major at the 2009 US Open. Rachel also noted the changes in Quinn's physique since she had made her debut on the women's tour in 2008. No one in their right mind would say the blonde was unfit during her debut year, but it was plain to see that the Quinn today was in supremely better shape than when she'd started. Sinewy arm muscles that rippled every time the World No.1's racket connected with the ball had replaced the barely-there puppy fat. The flexors on her right forearm were more defined when she changed her grip before tossing the ball high in the air. And her left deltoid looked like it was carved from stone when she paused for the barest of seconds before launching her body up at the airborne ball.

The pen in Rachel's hand stopped still, hovering in the air above her notebook when the footage changed to serves from Quinn's campaign at Wimbledon 2010. The brunette had forgotten all about the bright pink, grungy hair the tennis player had sported at the hallowed tournament. The hot pink look had been revealed during Quinn's opening match and really stood out amongst the tournament's famed all-white dress code and pristine green courts. As it turned out, Quinn had intended for the look to create headlines all along, stating in multiple interviews that she was hoping her bright pink hair would help raise awareness about breast cancer. Rachel distinctly remembered watching an interview where Quinn explained her choice to raise awareness in June instead of October, which was traditionally the Breast Cancer Awareness month, saying she knew she would grab eyeballs for pushing the boundaries of Wimbledon's dress code and, as a tennis player, she was aware that the global spotlight shone brightest on her during the two weeks at SW19. Rachel smiled, remembering how Quinn had made it a point to thank people for donating to various breast cancer charities during her runner-up's speech at that year's championships. It was the first time Rachel had realized what a class act Quinn really was.

She was broken from her musings when Shelby paused the screen again and turned to her young charge, "Hit me."

Rachel glanced down at her notes, clearing her throat before she spoke, "She likes to go for corners on her first serves when she's starting a new game, or has a comfortable lead in one. But she mixes it up with a fast one down the middle or straight into the body every so often. Um, also, her flat first serves down the T appear to be marginally faster than the ones she hits at more of an angle."

Shelby nodded, "Good. What about her second serves?"

"She seems to prefer the topspin serve in the ad court and the kick serve in the deuce court, but only when she's up. When she's under pressure, her go-to serve is the slice serve. Overall, her second serve seems to be about ten to fifteen miles per hour slower than her first," Rachel replied.

Shelby glanced down at her notes, "Yeah, that seems about right. Could you pick up any tells?"

Rachel considered the question for a moment, "I think she was hitting flat serves to her opponents backhands when she tossed the ball directly over her head."

"That's correct," Shelby agreed. "But keep a close eye on the placement of her toss because from what I could tell she was hitting American twist's when she threw the ball up just that _little_ bit behind her head." Rachel nodded dutifully, and jotted the observation down under 'Return of Serve' in her notebook. "Also, I think her shoulder rotation gives away her kick serves. That one would be harder to pick from a distance and would give you mere seconds to adjust your return, but see if you can spot it."

The two women discussed Quinn's serves for a while longer, also deliberating the pros and cons of various return positions for both first and second serves, before agreeing that they were ready to move on. Rachel munched on some sweet potato chips while Shelby browsed through folders and clicked on the one titled 'QF – Returns'. The coach hit play, and Rachel realized the first video was from last year's US Open. Her eyes tracked Quinn as the blonde wiped some sweat off her brow, passed the towel back to the ball boy, walked to the baseline and crouched down to return serve. '_Wow_,' Rachel marveled, pausing her chewing as she took in the sight of Quinn's defined hamstring and calf muscles as she half-squatted near the baselines. She didn't have time to dwell on the sudden dryness of her mouth as Shelby began pointing out the advantages and disadvantages of the World No. 1's current court position.

* * *

Rachel listened to Megan Hilty hit the last few notes of _God Bless America_. The young tennis player had seen the actress on Broadway in _9 to 5_ a few years ago and was an admirer of the woman's acting and vocal talents, even if she wasn't too big on the her currently on-air television musical _Smash_. Rachel and Quinn had been asked to pose for pictures with the performer before she walked out to serenade the crowd with Irving Berlin's patriotic anthem and the tiny brunette hadn't missed Quinn's amused quirked eyebrow when she'd told Megan she was a fan of her stage work. Quinn, for her part, politely shook hands with the tournament's guest performer, her eyes catching Rachel's for a brief instant before all three women turned and smiled for the waiting cameras. That was the most interaction Quinn and Rachel had had that day. Up till now.

The crowd's ovation at the end of the song had died down and a tournament handler silently took off through the doors. Rachel and Quinn followed her onto the Arthur Ashe Stadium, where they were met with renewed applause from the audience. Both players briefly raised a hand each in the air, acknowledging the appreciation. Rachel, having led them out onto court, opted to take the chair furthest from the doors and immediately set about arranging her things. It took her less than a minute to pull out and position her drink bottles and towels and to grab a racket for the warm up, so she was surprised to see Quinn already waiting at the net with the chair umpire when she turned around. The young brunette hurried to them for the coin toss, which Quinn won and elected to serve, posed for a few more pictures, first with Quinn and the chair umpire and then just with Quinn, and walked towards the baseline for the quick pre-match warm-up to another round of applause from the audience.

The two women set up a good rhythm, not moving one another around too much as they eased their bodies into the non-competitive rallies and prepared themselves for the match that lay ahead. The brunette took a moment to glance up at her box when Quinn came forward to hit some volley returns, and saw her father's, Shelby, Jesse, Kurt and the Pierce's in seated in her corner, so to speak. Whitney and Pierce had decided to stay in New York for the duration of Rachel's campaign despite the fact that their own daughter was out of the running at the Major, and it gladdened Rachel to see the three Londoner's chatting with her support team. She stepped forward to practice her own volley's when Quinn moved back to the baseline.

"Four minutes," the chair umpire said a while later, and Quinn moved in to the service line to gently smash back the high balls Rachel tossed up for her. They swapped after a minute or so, giving Rachel the opportunity to get in a few overhead smashes of her own. Finally they moved on to, separately, practicing their serves, and both women headed back to their chairs when the umpire sounded the one-minute notice.

Rachel sat down and took a few quick gulps from each of her two drinks. She peeled a banana, glancing up at Quinn's box as she did, and was surprised to see Finn seated amidst the rest of the World No. 1's large support team. There was no sign of Marley Rose beside him, and Rachel imagined the press would have a field day reporting the latest on the imaginary love triangle in tomorrow's papers. Her eyes briefly landed on Santana Lopez, whose eyes were hidden behind a pair of dark aviator glasses. If Rachel had to guess she'd say the Latina was staring at the tall blonde seated in her own box. The teenager felt a fondness for both women bubble in her chest as she took a bite of her banana, which she set back down on the table beside her half-eaten just as the umpire announced the start of play.

Rachel picked up her racket and walked back to the baseline, listening to the rapturous applause coming from every corner of the stadium. She could no longer deny the magnitude of the occasion, and with that the butterflies were back!

The brunette had battled nerves all day. Who wouldn't, before their first Major final? To make things worse, the Final had been scheduled for 8 pm, leaving Rachel with plenty of time to obsess about what would happen that evening ever since she'd disposed of Fleur Delacour in the semifinals.

Shelby, having been-there-done-that, had advised her young charge not to get ahead of herself and just to try and approach the final as she would any other match. '_Ha! Easier said than done!_,' were the first words to cross Rachel's mind on receiving the advice, but to her credit she had kept her mouth shut and obediently attempted to keep her focus on the now. So she had spent the morning playing some video games with Brittany before leaving for the USTA Billie Jean King National Tennis Center in Flushing Meadows in the early afternoon, where she had eaten a big lunch comprising a large serve of pasta, dried fruit and yoghurt in the Player's Cafeteria and drunk a lot of water. After lunch she had sat down with Shelby in the now almost disconcertingly quiet Player's Lounge to go over match strategy one last time, before hitting the practice court for a pre-match hit with Brittany and Shelby. That was followed by a quick snack and drink before Rachel headed to the locker-room, where she was rather surprised not to come face-to-face with Quinn. Once dressed for the match she went through her pre-match stretches, and then waited a short while for someone from the tournament to summon her for the match. Rachel would be lying if she said she had been one hundred percent successful in keeping the looming task ahead of her from her mind, but she did try her hardest to think about something, anything, else when the words _US_, _Open_ and _Final_ popped up in her head, exclusively in that order.

Now even concentrating on the now meant thinking about her first Grand Slam final, leaving her pulse was racing, her heart beating wildly in her chest and hands feeling clammy as she crouched low to return serve. She looked across the net at Quinn who appeared to be a study in calmness as she stared down at three balls, and wondered how the blonde looked so composed when she herself felt like she was about to have a panic attack. Quinn raised a ball in the air towards Rachel, who nodded her understanding that they were playing with new balls even wondered how the hell she could stop her hands from shaking with nerves. The young American settled for putting her left hand around the grip of the racket so that she was clutching it with both hands in an attempt to keep them steady. She was honestly beginning to wonder if she was having a legitimate heart attack when Quinn tossed the ball in the air, and then she frantically searching her mind for what it meant when the blonde tossed the ball right over her head. The ball came flat and fast to Rachel's backhand before her memory kicked in, and the brunette instinctively stuck her racket out at the ball, somehow managing to get it back into play. She might as well have let Quinn just have an ace, since her return was so weak that the blonde easily hit it cross court for a winner. Rachel could barely hear the crowd's applause over the sound of her own blood pumping in her ears. '_Is it normal to be able to hear your own heartbeat?_,she wondered.

The young American walked to the ad court, concentrating on taking slow, deep breaths. Rachel noted how dry her throat was despite the fact that she'd had a drink less than sixty seconds ago, and desperately tried to generate some saliva by moving her tongue around in her mouth. Before she knew it another serve was coming her way, and this time she hadn't even been able to focus on the ball toss. She watched, almost like a hapless spectator, as an ace zoomed past her forehand side.

Rachel crossed sides again and was nearly shocked to see determined hazel eyes studying her when she looked across the net at her opponent. Quinn looked back down, adjusted the visor cap on her head and bounced the ball a few times. Everything suddenly seemed to be happening in slow motion in Rachel's eyes, and she stared at the ball leaving the blonde's hand before being recaptured in her grip. Everything else in Rachel's world faded into the background and she stared, almost unabashedly, as Quinn tossed the ball high and held her position for the barest of moments before throwing her racket up to meet the ball. Something about the blonde's shoulder rotation made Rachel snap back to the present, and without giving it any conscious thought it she positioned herself to return a kick serve that she somehow knew to expect. That didn't stop her from being as surprised as anyone else at the ferocity of the forehand return winner that gave her her first point of the match.

"30-15," the chair umpire announced.

Rachel couldn't help but glance at her opponent to see if that stunner of a shot had drawn any sort of reaction from the World No. 1 but Quinn was already on her way back to the baseline, beckoning for her towel. The brunette wiped her own forehead with the wristband on her left arm before squatting down again, willing her heart to stop beating so erratically. Now she was seriously considering whether she should call the tournament doctor during the change of ends to check her blood pressure, and promised herself that she'd revisit idea after the first three games. If she managed to survive that long.

Quinn turned around, her face a mask devoid of expression. Seconds later, she sent a perfectly placed flat serve to a corner of the service box, and an unfocused Rachel silently berated herself for once again not paying enough attention to the blonde's service routine as she flung her arm at the ball. Her backhand landed meekly at Quinn's feet right in the center of the court, leaving three quarters of the court open for Quinn to do with it what she may. Without thinking Rachel quickly moved to her right, logic dictating that the World No. 1 would try and hit a winner into the open court. Only Quinn had other plans, and calmly hit a backhand winner right behind Rachel's back.

Rachel shook her head as she walked back to the baseline. "Focus, Rachel," she muttered to herself, not caring if the on-court microphones picked up the one-sided conversation. She watched Quinn lift the hand gripping a tennis ball lift to tuck a loose strand of hair behind one ear with a finger, before she bounced the ball and sent Rachel a hard, fast serve down the tee. The teenager netted the return, giving Quinn the first game of the match.

The brunette took off towards the net while the umpire was still announcing the score, intent on taking a sip of water before she crossed sides. She didn't care if it looked odd that she was hydrating herself after only five points had been played. Or that Quinn had crossed paths with her and marched on to the other side without stopping at her own chair. Clearly Quinn wasn't dealing with nerves that left her feeling as dry-throated as a traveler lost in the Sahara.

Rachel glanced up at her box as she marched towards the baseline, and saw every single person in there looking at her with smiles of encouragement. She hoped they didn't notice her shaky hands when she nodded at the ball kid in front of her.

Rachel turned to face the net, and now it was Quinn that had her gaze locked on Rachel. The teenager could sense the hazel eyes watching her every move as she prepared to serve, almost like a lioness sizing up its prey. Rachel glanced up to see where Quinn had positioned herself, and was unsurprised to see her standing a good couple of steps behind the baseline. Rachel and Shelby had noted in their study of Quinn Fabray's playing style the previous evening that the World No. 1 liked to start matches far enough behind the baseline to get a good read on the opponents serve while she evaluated whether it was a good idea to step in a little bit. As the match progressed Quinn would either stand closer to the baseline, or stay where she was and simply quickstep her way to the serves.

Rachel let out a quiet sigh of relief upon the realization that some of her game plans and observations were beginning to come back to her, before tossing the ball up and sending her first serve right into the net. Without missing a beat she pulled the second ball out of her compression shorts and sent a kick serve to the blonde who was standing on the baseline to return Rachel's second serve. Quinn smashed a forehand to Rachel's backhand, and moved in to the net to hit a sharply angled volley return off the ball the brunette sent back.

Rachel was down 0-15, and the nerves were making themselves known again. "Deep breaths, stay calm" she mumbled, staring down at the three balls she had to pick from. Sending one back, she tucked the second away and got her service routine out of the way before sending a topspin serve to Quinn's backhand.

"Fault!," a linesman called, indicating that the ball had gone long.

Rachel bounced the second ball, repeating the mantra '_You need to land your first serves!_' in her head. Dwelling on the last serve probably didn't help because the brunette followed it up with another fault, giving Quinn a free point. She could practically hear commentators around the world sighing at her game, or the lack thereof, some probably already predicting a one-sided win for the World No. 1. Rachel felt a wave of nausea wash over her at the thought that they would be proven right if she didn't get a grip on her game.

The teenager gave a cursory glance at Quinn's court position, then tossed the ball up and sent another topspin serve the blonde's way. This one was perfectly placed and sent the top-ranked player out wide, leaving Rachel with a completely open court to hit into. Running around the ball, she whipped a forehand to her right, and Quinn best all-out sprint wasn't enough to get to it. The audience roared their support for her then, making Rachel wonder about what it was that made crowds always support the underdog. '_Or they want their money's worth_,' she thought sardonically.

Rachel decided to go for broke with her next serve, and put all her strength into a flat serve down the T. Quinn swung at the ball and missed, leaving Rachel feeling slightly more confident of her own abilities. The crowd's cheers indicated that they, like Rachel, were convinced the brunette had won the point. That is, until Rachel heard a husky voice say "Challenge," and looked up to see the blonde staring at the umpire with the index finger of her left hand pointed skywards.

"Fabray is challenging the point. The ball was called in," the umpire stated moments before the screens around the stadium lit up with Hawk-Eye's rendering of the point that had just been played. The audience clapped along as the ball's trajectory appeared on screen and groaned as one when the "replay" showed that Rachel's serve had landed outside the service box by two millimetres.

Rachel shot an incredulous look towards her box as the umpire corrected herself, "The call is corrected. Second serve."

The brunette shook her head, cursing her luck. She glanced up at Quinn, who still looked stoic despite her mini victory from seconds ago. Rachel was down 15-30 in her opening service game of the match, and knew couldn't afford to not get her second serve into play. So she sent down a harmless slice-serve that even a twelve-year-old would punish to the World No. 1, and watched a forehand winner zip past her mere seconds later.

'_This is not going well_,' Rachel thought, her anger at her own poor play chasing away the nerves, though she had yet to notice this. Her eyes narrowed as she stared across the net at Quinn, whose alert hazel eyes were almost at odds with the rest of her impassive countenance. Bouncing the ball, once, twice, thrice, she sent an American twist towards Quinn, watching with satisfaction as the blonde completely misread the serve and then mishit it as it spun inwards towards her body. Quinn's return landed well wide of the court, and Rachel had saved a breakpoint.

'_One down, one to go_,' Rachel thought. '_All I need to do is win this point, then win two more, and we'll be level. And then I can focus on trying to break her. Yeah, good plan_,' she told herself, bobbing her head along at the silent pep talk she was giving herself. Only, plans have a way of not working out. Rachel landed her first serve long, and had to resist the urge to smash her racket just to let out some of her frustration. She knew she'd never hear the end of it from her father's or Shelby if she "disrespected the tools of her trade", and anyway, that wasn't the kind of role model Rachel wanted to be to the millions of kids watching the match across the globe. That thought set her on edge again. Millions of people around the world were watching her fail to show up in this all-important match. The teenager could practically hear Santana tsk-ing in her head, the Spaniard telling her how she would have been a more worthy opponent in this final. Rachel's manic mind almost didn't register the fact that Quinn won the next point, giving the blonde an early break of serve in the opening set.

Mere minutes later Rachel stared dolefully at the scoreboard, which showed that Quinn was ahead three games to none. She flicked her gaze to the on-court clock, thinking that it felt like the match had been going on way longer than the seven minutes the clock displayed. She took big swigs from her two drink bottles, glancing at Quinn out of her peripheral vision. The World No. 1 was staring ahead into nothingness, and Rachel reckoned she looked like she was in the zone. '_Unlike her opponent_,' she thought.

The brunette knew she needed to get her head in the game, and bent down to pull her notebook out of her bag. Opening the book to the page dedicated to this match she stared quizzically at some words that she didn't remember being at the bottom of the page the last time she'd looked, and it didn't take her long to recognize Shelby's handwriting. '_Don't let the occasion overwhelm you. Savour it, and play it the way you always imagined you would. Don't think too far ahead. Play the match one point at a time, because stringing points together is what wins matches. Trust your game. Trust yourself. Have fun. You can do this_,' the coach had written in big, bold letters.

Rachel was overcome by a wave of emotion, and found herself blinking back tears as she closed the book and looked up at her box, where Shelby was staring right back at her. The coach lifted her hand and pumped her right fist at her charge, and Rachel was filled with a new sense of determination. She'd be damned if she was going to go out without putting up a fight!

She looked back down at her book, and quickly ran her eyes over everything she and Shelby had noted in regards to today's match. Her mind began to clear as she stared at the words with renewed purpose and things that had slipped her anxious mind now came flooding back. Rachel kept reading and reminding herself of the same strategies until the chair umpire called time, at which point she closed the book and left it on the table beside her chair before walking to her side of the court.

Rachel gave her opponent a cursory glance before beginning the process of bouncing the ball. In those two seconds her mind zipped over potential serve options based on Quinn's court position, and the serve that came off her racket was a slower slice that forced the blonde to rush a good few steps forward and to the right to get to the ball. Quinn's return lacked any zing, and Rachel had no problem hitting a crosscourt backhand that the World No. 1 had to run the length of the baseline to recover. This time her return went to Rachel's forehand that the brunette hit crosscourt again, forcing Quinn to turn and run the length of the baseline again. The older American could do no more than get the outside of the top frame of her racket to the ball, which only served to alter the balls trajectory as it continued onwards. The crowd roared, clearly having enjoyed watching Rachel run Quinn ragged across the court.

"15-0," announced the umpire.

'_There you go_,' Rachel silently told herself, drawing confidence from the point.

She wasn't surprised to see Quinn standing closer to the baseline when she looked up this time, even if the top-ranked player wasn't actually standing _on_ it. Rachel let her eyes flit over the spot where she wanted the ball to land and drawing all her might she sent a flat, hard serve down the T. Quinn's new court position gave her less time to react to the ball's pace, and the ball whooshed past her outstretched racket. The blonde stood upright and gave the centerline a long, hard look before walking to the deuce court to return the next serve. Rachel had watched her opponent contemplate whether to challenge the call and let out an almost imperceptible sigh when she didn't. The teenager had her first ace in the bag.

"30-0" came the call amidst more cheering and whooping.

Rachel bounced in place to keep her legs warm and watched as Quinn shuffled around on the baseline before deciding where to stand. The lower-ranked player knew she was now making the World No. 1 actually _think_ about her court position, and the thought filled her with even more confidence. Quinn finally settled on standing closer to the corner of the box, just a couple of feet from where the baseline met the singles line. Rachel realized she was silently issuing her a challenge to serve to almost the same spot by leaving such a huge gap on her backhand side. The brunette wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth but unfortunately for her, this serve wasn't as precise and was called a fault.

Rachel growled under her breath, annoyed at herself for allowing Quinn to dictate the run of play just then. '_Stick to your plan. Your plan_,' she could hear Shelby say in her head, and the brunette was determined to do just that from now. She sent a kick serve over the net, and was beaten by a perfectly timed forehead down the line that left her stranded on the other end of the court.

"30-15."

Rachel beckoned for her towel, just to give herself a moment to collect herself. The breather proved to be a good decision, because moments later she calmly hit a topspin serve that went right into Quinn's body, forcing a mishit return that went straight into the net.

The announcement was made, "40-15".

For the next point, Rachel sent a fast, flat serve into Quinn's body again, cutting off the blonde's angle on the ball. This time the brunette followed her serve in, so she was at the net to volley the return that predictably came straight at her in the middle of the court. Quinn managed to use what had to be lightening reflexes to keep the point in play, but Rachel was up to the task. Lunging at the ball, she hit a sharp-angled backhand that left Quinn stranded in no man's land as it raced across the singles line.

The crowd were on their feet, giving the shot the ovation it deserved. "Game, Berry. Fabray leads three games to one," the umpire announced, and Rachel looked at her box, nodding her head for the whole world to see. She was on the board.

From there on both Rachel and Quinn played tennis that had the crowd oohing, commentators jumping out of their seats with their microphones held to their lips and television viewers lamenting commercial breaks that prevented them from watching how the women recovered during the changes of ends. The rallies grew longer as Quinn and Rachel acquainted themselves with the nuances of each other's hard-court games. They baited one another, outsmarted one another, _beat_ one another, sometimes at their own games. Every-so-often one would hit a winner so impossible that even the other applauded. Rachel was no longer thinking about how this was her first Grand Slam final. She was too busy enjoying the match, rising to the challenge.

Quinn took the first set after Rachel was unable to break back. The blonde was serving like a dream, and the closest Rachel had gotten to pressuring her serve was to get to 30-30 in the seventh game of the match before Quinn wrapped up the set 6-3. The teenager opened serve in the second set, and found herself breathing a little easier with the pressure of playing catch up no longer on her shoulders. That said, having to make sure she stayed in the lead brought it's own stress. Rachel had proven to be up to the task so far, and was now level at 30-all with the set balanced at 3-2 in the second set.

The World No. 1 was wiping her forearms, and a crouching Rachel watched as the sheen of moisture on her limbs disappeared under the moving towel. Rachel twirled the racket in her hands, her eyes pausing on Quinn's flushed cheeks for a moment before zeroing in on the ball that the blonde began bouncing. Rachel narrowed her eyes, recognizing a sign she hadn't noticed when watching footage of Quinn but had picked up in the course of this match – the blonde gripped the ball differently when tossing it up to hit a topspin serve. The brunette had even wondered if Quinn spun it slightly in the air instead of throwing it up straight, but it was too hard to pick that fine detail from across the net. She had already made a mental note to confirm her doubts after the match.

Rachel was ready when the ball spun away from her, and she hit a perfectly timed forehand return in the same line the ball came from. Her return was hard and heavy, and was hit to force Quinn to struggle to control the ball when it met her own racket. Sure enough, the brunette's service return produced a forced error from the top-ranked American.

"30-40," said the chair umpire.

Rachel could feel a shift of energy in the air. People were leaning forwards in their seats, a hush falling over the Arthur Ashe Stadium as Quinn began her pre-serve ritual. The blonde sent a fast, angled serve that was clearly intended to hit the corner of the box but went miles wide and was called out. Rachel could hear a few quiet murmurs coming from the stands as the blonde readied her second serve. Again, Rachel's research had prepared her for the slice serve Quinn tended to go for when her serve was under pressure, and she sent back a high arcing topspin return that the blonde was obviously not expecting. The blonde still sent a decent ball back but Rachel was ready for it and hit a backhand deep into the ad court, which left Quinn way behind the baseline after she sent back her own return. Rachel patiently hit a drop shot, and watched with satisfaction as the ball bounced a second time before Quinn caught up to it.

"C'mon!" Rachel yelled, turning to her box with her fist pumped. Her support team responded by rising to their feet, almost as one. Even Jesse was no longer sporting his parent smirk and was screaming with wild abandon.

You could barely hear the umpire state, ""Game, Berry. Berry leads four games to two," over the thunderous applause that shook the entire stadium. Rachel had the break in the second, and now she needed to consolidate.

The brunette played with the strings of her racket as she stared at the instrument. '_Ok, all you need is four good serves. And you need to get through them one at a time_,' she told herself, before nodding at the ball kid.

Rachel's first serve was an ace out wide, and it gave the brunette the assurance she needed at the start of this all-important game. She blew her cheeks out, exhaling hard before beginning her pre-serve ritual for the second point. She sent this one to Quinn's backhand, and was surprised by the ferocity of the return that came back her way. The best Rachel could do was send a meek return to the center of the court, and Quinn rightfully punished the ball by ripping a forehand winner past the teenager. If points could speak then the last one would tell Rachel in no uncertain terms that Quinn wasn't about to roll over and submit.

"15-all," came the call.

The brunette swiped away a bead of sweat that was rolling down her cheek. Quinn was standing near the corner of the court, once again tempting the teenager with the expanse of free space to hit into. Rachel wasn't going to take the bait this time, and sent a deep, fast serve right at the blonde. To Quinn's credit the blonde had also obviously planned for this eventuality, so instead of sending a soft return right to where Rachel was expecting it she reared her racket back and sent a ferocious return that dipped and landed almost on Rachel's toes as she moved forward. The tennis God's must have been smiling on Rachel though, because her spontaneous half volley caught the tape, wobbled for a millisecond and finally fell over meekly on Quinn's side of the court.

Rachel raised her hand apologetically, almost empathising with the look of sheer frustration on the blonde's face. The brunette knew that was an ugly way to win a point, but if that's what it took to win then she'd take it.

'_Two more points_,' she reminded herself.

A minute later that became '_One more point_' after Quinn mishit an easy overhead smash right into the net. The blonde let out a frustrated shriek that only seemed to make the audience clap even louder for Rachel. "40-15," the umpire stated.

The teenager bounced the ball, listening to the crowd fall silent around her. She might not have been serving for the set just yet, but Rachel knew the importance of winning this game. She willed the new bout of nerves fluttering around her belly to settle and took deep, calming breaths before hitting a flat serve to Quinn's forehand. The blonde hit her return right back to Rachel and this time decided to serve and volley herself, following her return to the net. Rachel tried to pass her, once, twice, thrice, but the blonde's soft hands were always there to send a deft volley right back. The fourth time Rachel changed the trajectory of her own racket at the last minute and sent a lob high over Quinn's head. Now it was her turn to move forward to the net as the World No. 1 turned and chased down the ball that landed just inside the baseline, and for a split-second Rachel marveled at the no-look tweener Quinn sent back. That is, before she hit a volley winner of her own.

Rachel turned and walked to her chair, soaking in the audience's appreciation of the point. She could feel the blood pumping through her veins as the umpire announced her lead and covered her bouncing legs with a towel before finishing the last of her second banana of the match. She glanced at the clock, which showed that she and Quinn had been battling it out for an hour and ten minutes now. Rachel wondered at how fresh she still felt and suspected her current levels of adrenaline had much to do with the lack of fatigue.

The New Yorker headed into the next game intending to break Quinn's serve and thereby both save herself the stress of having to serve the set out and ensure that she got to serve first in the deciding set. Unsurprisingly Quinn had other plans and had her best service game yet, hitting two aces and one serve that drew a forced error from Rachel before ending the game by winning a twenty point rally that saw the brunette cover almost every inch of the playing area. The message was clear – Rachel would have to _win_ this set.

And so that's what Rachel did. Leading 40-30 at 5-3, she ran left to right to chase down a crosscourt shot from Quinn, getting to the ball on the run and using its pace to hit a forehand crosscourt winner of her own. Seeing that the blonde was nowhere near the ball, Rachel turned to face her box, yelling out another "C'mon!" even before the ball had hit the back wall on Quinn's side of the court.

The two opponents both got to the net at the same time, and Rachel paused to let Quinn pass before taking her own seat. She had gotten a whiff of the blonde's scent as she passed, and the smell of strawberries mixed with something that had to be uniquely Quinn lingered in her nostrils as she drank from her bottle. All of a sudden she felt a little bit lightheaded and wondered if it was the stress leaving her body now that she had leveled the match at one set a piece.

'_Stay focused_,' she reminded herself, glancing around the quickly emptying stadium at people leaving to relieve themselves or find food at the end of the tense second set. Thinking it would be a good idea to splash some water on her own face to get rid of the sudden giddiness, Rachel requested a toilet break and briefly left the court when the chair umpire okayed her request. The brunette grabbed a dress from her kitbag on her way out and used the time away from court to change out of her sweaty blue Adidas number into another identical but mercifully dry dress. When Rachel returned to the court minutes later a good portion of the crowd had returned to their seats and Quinn was already on her side of the court, moving around in an obvious effort to stay warm. The brunette dropped her dress on the table, picked up her racket and prepared to begin the dance that would be set number three.

Both women began the final set tentatively, which commentators around the world agreed was probably an aftereffect of the slightly longer than usual break they'd just had. The opening two service games were tough and both went to deuce before the servers held, albeit without actually facing any break points. The level went back to a category that could only be called 'Ridiculously High' from the third game, with Quinn and Rachel probing one another's games, attempting to exploit perceived weaknesses and craft points to suit their own strengths. They had just passed the two-hour mark when Rachel won another game that went to deuce to make it six games all.

'_This is it_,' the brunette thought, knowing the tiebreaker would decide their fate once and for all. She swallowed down the sudden wave of nausea that hit her, the feeling of having a panic attack from the start of the match returning, this time with an army of butterflies in tow. Realizing that her hands were beginning to tremble again, Rachel closed her eyes and tried to visualize her book of notes. Her research with Shelby had brought Quinn's high winning percentage in final set tiebreakers to their notice and if she recalled correctly Quinn had the second best record of any current women's player, trailing only Santana in that category. Which made the task that lay ahead of her that much more daunting.

'_Put pressure on your opponent, make your first serves and focus on winning each point one at a time,_' Rachel repeated in her head, over and over again. It was the rule by which she played tiebreakers, which in her opinion were the most mental game of tennis. You weren't winning and you weren't losing, and one bad shot or stroke of genius was all it took to change that precarious balance.

Feeling better and more focused, Rachel opened her eyes and readied for the first serve from Quinn. The blonde sent down the serve that had given Rachel the most trouble that day – the hard, flat serve into the body. Once again, Rachel had a hard time getting her body out of the way and into position in time, and Quinn easily put away her meek return to take the first point.

Now it was Rachel's turn. The brunette selected a ball and decided to take a page out of her opponent's book by opening with a serve that Quinn had struggled with that day – the American twist. Again, the server made the right call because Quinn's weak return allowed Rachel to dictate the rally, which she won after moving Quinn around the court till she ultimately hit an unforced error.

Rachel had a problem with her ball toss on her next serve, and really should have just caught the ball, apologized and restarted the serve. Instead, she decided to make a minor adjustment to her serve and ended up hitting the ball right into the net for a fault. Frustrated at her impatience and bad decision-making, she silently berated herself while lining up for her second serve. Looking up, she saw that Quinn was standing _inside_ the baseline and would more than likely pounce on a weak second serve. '_No guts, no glory Rach_,' she heard Brittany's English accent say in her head and the brunette knew what she had to do. Tossing the ball up, she sent a hard, flat serve down the T, hitting it just as she would a first serve. The serve caught Quinn off guard and had her beat, giving Rachel a rare second serve ace.

"2-1, Berry," the umpire announced. Rachel let out a quick sigh of relief, knowing she had avoided a close call there.

Quinn put two excellent serves into play to win her next two service points, and Rachel emulated her by doing the same, both before and after they changed ends at 3-all. She was now leading 4-3, and stood twirling her racket in her hands as she waited for Quinn to select a ball to serve with. Rachel ran her gaze over the World No. 1's lithe form, letting her eyes rest on the strong muscles of her upper back that were on display because of the razor-back cut of her Nike dress. She blinked when Quinn turned around to face her, and for a moment their gazes met across the net before the blonde looked down and began bouncing the ball.

Rachel saw the shoulder rotation and was prepared for the kick serve when it came. Launching herself at the ball she hit a hard forehand, the shot so powerful that both of Rachel's feet were off the ground at the point of contact with the orb. Quinn let out a muted grunt when the ball hit her own racket but managed to control it and keep the ball in play. The two women kept hitting the ball back-and-forth, using the pace the other was generating to keep it moving at a lightening speed. Quinn retrieved a ball she had no business getting to, Rachel ran down a drop shot from behind the baseline, the crowd was audibly gasping and still the point kept going. Until Quinn hit a forehand deep to Rachel's backhand side, and the brunette changed the position of her wrist at the last minute to change the shot from a backhand down the line to a crosscourt backhand, fooling the blonde with the cleverly disguised shot. The wrong-footed blonde could do no more than turn her head to follow the ball with her eyes as it passed behind her back.

Rachel's support team were up on their feet again, cheering as if possessed. Hiram was practically red in the face, and Shelby had both fists clenched and raised at her chest level. The brunette could hear their cries of support as the umpire announced the score, the importance of the mini-break not lost on anyone. Or the fact that Rachel would soon have the opportunity to serve for the championship.

Crouching down again, she took in Quinn's expression and could see a hint of annoyance on the blonde's features, most likely directed at her own play. Rachel had never seen her fellow American look truly annoyed in person and distractedly thought about how the frown creasing her eyebrows was actually cute and did nothing to take away from Quinn's stunning looks. Then the World No. 1 looked up at Rachel with blazing determination in her hazel eyes, and the brunette was quickly reminded of why they were on opposite sides of the net.

The serve Quinn sent down seconds later went out wide and left Rachel completely out of position after she returned it. The blonde had hit it to perfection, and easily sent a winner to the opposite corner from where Rachel was left stranded.

"5-4, Berry," the umpire said, as if anyone in the stadium needed to be reminded what the score was.

Rachel's heart was beating erratically as she nodded to the ball kid. The match was now on her racket and for the first time in this match she had the opportunity to really control her fate. She gulped, knowing that the eyes of everyone in the stadium were on her. Quinn was probably staring from across the net too, and Rachel did her best to school her features to hide her nerves from her opponent before turning around to get this over and done with.

The umpire asked the boisterous crowd to be silent and the cheers died down till the stadium was almost eerily silent. Someone in the audience coughed as Rachel bounced the ball, and the sound reverberated around the stadium. The brunette took one last glance at Quinn's position before tossing the ball up and sending down a kick serve to her forehand. The top-ranked player stepped towards the ball and ripped a return to Rachel's backhand before following the ball in, clearly intending to volley. The teenager read her intent and whacked a backhand down the line, forcing Quinn to lunge at the ball. The blonde was literally airborne as she desperately reached for the ball with her racket, but it was all in vain. The ball passed by harmlessly, landing well inside the baseline. Rachel had championship point.

For years after people would ask Rachel about the next point and the look on her face told them she wasn't lying when she said it was really all a blur. She will tell them that she remembers checking to see if Quinn was alright as she stood up and dusted herself off, and that she walked to the baseline to serve for the match. She vividly recalls hearing her fathers cheer for her, but for the life of her can't recall her thought process before she decided to send down a slice serve, which even she knows is her weakest serve, or much of the actual rally that followed.

What she does remember is standing close to the net near the middle of the court and watching the airborne ball come closer and closer to her, arcing through the air before she lifted her racket high in the air and smashed it with all her might. She remembers the cracking sound the ball made as it connected with the racket, and how it raced to a corner of the court, far away from Quinn's reach. And she'll tell you that that was the first time she knew, _really knew,_ that the reason sportsmen fall to their knees after big wins is because it's that precise moment when the magnitude of what you've done really hits you, and for a split second you're too overwhelmed to even support your own weight.

Rachel was on her knees, crying into her palms when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Looking up, she gazed at the face of her vanquished opponent through blurred vision. Quinn's eyes were tinged with a hint of dejection but that didn't stop her from gracing the brunette with a gentle smile and offering the teenager her hand. "C'mon Champ, the world awaits," she smiled, pulling Rachel up when the younger girl grasped her hand.

"Congratulations Rachel," Quinn added when the two women were standing face-to-face before kissing her on the cheek once, "You played really well."

Rachel nodded dumbly, unable to form words, and again inhaling the blonde's scent without actually realising it. Quinn gave her a fond look before she patted the new champion on the back ad walked away to her chair, leaving Rachel to savour the applause and adulation coming from all around her. The brunette's gaze landed on her box and she automatically scampered off in their direction, raising her hands in the air as she looked up at them, tears streaming down her cheeks. Jesse was whooping, Brittany was whistling, her fathers were sobbing and even Shelby was swiping at the corners of her eyes with her fingers. The smiles on the faces of her team were bright enough to light up Times Square, and Rachel was sure her own grin was on par.

A few moments later the brunette walked back to her chair, sharing a quiet smile with Quinn as she passed the blonde. Rachel had just slipped into her jacket when the tournament director came over to congratulate her and quickly brief her on the post-match presentation. The brunette nodded, still not trusting her voice. A few minutes later she walked alongside Quinn as the two women were told where to stand for the ceremony, and before she knew it, Quinn was being called to receive her runner-up's trophy and prize money.

The blonde raised the plate above her head, a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes in place as did so, before she walked over to the microphone, "First of all, congratulations to Rachel," the blonde began, turning to face her conqueror and pausing as a fresh round of applause broke out for that evening's victor. "You played a great match and a great tournament overall, and deserve to be the last man, well, woman, standing," she said genuinely, drawing quiet laughs from the crowd. "I'm sure this is just the first of many more Major wins for you," she added, smiling at Rachel before turning away. "Thank you to my support team. You guys keep me motivated and fit enough to compete, and I wouldn't be half the player I am without you." There was more applause, then Quinn said, "Thank you to the sponsors who back this great tournament, and all the officials, staff and ball kids that make the US Open such a smooth ride. And finally, to the fans –". She had to pause for the rapturous applause that broke out here, "we wouldn't have a tournament if you didn't come out to support us and watch us play, so thank you for backing this great sport of ours. And see you next year." Quinn waved at the crowd and stepped away from the microphone to the sound of cheers.

And then it was Rachel's turn to be summoned. The teenager walked up to the dais, the blood pumping in her ears almost muting the cheers coming from the crowd as she was handed the trophy that she stared at with a dazed look for a second before holding it aloft her head. '_It's lighten than I thought it would be_,' she thought randomly, doing a small circle before accepting the envelope containing her cheque, thanking everyone on the stage with a hoarse voice and moving to the microphone.

"Tha-" she croaked, before stopping to clear her throat. "Let's try that again. I think my voice is in as much shock as the rest of me" she smiled, prompting the audience to laugh with her. "As I was saying, thank you. Like Quinn said, it's the fans that make being a professional tennis player such a gratifying job, so thank you for your support. And I can't even express what it means to have won my first Major right here in my hometown of New York City. This really is a dream come true." Rachel had to stop for the thunderous applause that followed her words, and she looked at Quinn when it fell silent again, "Quinn, you are the benchmark when it comes to women's tennis. Congratulations on another great tournament. I look forward to more battles against you in the future, and I'm already mentally prepared to lose a fair few of them." She smiled when Quinn ducked her head, acknowledging Rachel's words, then continued, "To everyone that sponsors or works at the US Open. I have been coming here ever since I was little to watch matches with my family, and I now know firsthand just how hard everyone works behind the scenes. Thank you for your efforts." There was a smattering of applause, and then Rachel turned to face her box. "And to my team," she began, her voice cracking with emotion, "thank you. Daddy and Papa, thank you for letting me play this sport that I love so much. Shelby, and anyone else that has ever coached me, thank you for nurturing my game and bettering it. I am so grateful to each and everyone of you that's sitting in my box, and can't express in words just how much you all mean to me." Rachel was crying again now, and wiped her eyes as she stepped away from the mic.

A media handler approached the new champion, and guided her to stand beside Quinn for a few shots. The two women posed for the shutterbugs before Quinn squeezed the brunette's shoulder and slipped away, and Rachel spent the next half an hour walking around the court, making sure that anyone that wanted a picture of her with her trophy got one.

It was past midnight by the time Rachel was on the way to her post-match press conference, showered but still clutching on to her shiny new trophy. She was passing Media Room No. 7, when she caught sight of Quinn's face on the screen that displayed what was going on inside the room. The brunette paused for a moment, her curiosity getting the better of her.

A disembodied voice was in the middle of asking a question, and Quinn had a bemused look on her face as she waited for the woman to finish, "…since the Australian Open. Would you say your game is in decline?"

Quinn sighed, and her voice took on a hard edge, "I actually thought I played well tonight. Unfortunately for me, Rachel just played better. I also made the finals of the French Open, and lost to Santana, who might just be the best clay court player of our generation. So no, I don't actually think my career is in decline. I just think the competition is more fierce. Which I believe is brilliant for women's tennis. Don't you?"

"Talk about grace under fire" Shelby commented from her place beside Rachel.

Rachel nodded, taking one last look at the screen before continuing on to her own press conference.


	27. Chapter 27

**Hello! Gosh, it's been ridiculously long since my last update, don't you think? As I had mentioned in my last Author's Note, real life has been insanely busy, and no, it hasn't actually let up yet****. While I enjoy being busy, it has kept me from being able to write in my preferred style of writing chunks of pages at a go, which explains why it's taken this long to get Chapter 27 up. I would like to thank my readers, especially because not a single one of you sent me a message along the lines of ****_'Hurry the hell up, woman!' _****In fact, I received nothing but positive reviews and feedback, for which I am eternally grateful. You guys are the best!**

**So yes, Rachel won her first Slam. I know some readers thought it was a bit soon, but to be honest it's how I had always planned things to work out. I would like Rachel to enter the 2013 season with the pressure of not only having to defend ranking points but the added expectations that come with winning a Major. You know, to see how she handles being one of the hunted, while also navigating everything else that comes with being a teenager****.**

**On a Faberry-related note, I think my protagonist will have more time to stop and smell the roses now that she has a Slam under her belt. I don't think many people realise just how much an athlete can resemble a horse with blinders until they have truly accomplished something big. After all, its what their whole existence up till that point has been geared towards, all the hours they put into training, getting physically fit, sleeping right, and a whole bunch of sacrifices the rest of us can't fathom. I think Rachel will become more observant of the world around her from this point on. I hope that translates to the pages I write.**

**As always, thank you to everyone that clicked the follow/favourite boxes, and sent me feedback****. A Perfect Match now has close to 300 followers, and has been favourited just over 100 times. I can barely believe it myself. I wanted to quickly apologise to my reviewers about the spelling mistakes in some of my replies to feedback. That's what happens when you hit send before reading through what you've written (and autocorrect decides that 'right' and 'write' are the same thing :p)**

**Finally, the US Open just ended and I don't think anyone predicted Pennetta taking home the women's trophy! But what a way to announce your retirement. And I know I'm not the only one who felt truly happy for Vinci after she defeated Serena. The Italian is hard to dislike, and its nice that she got at least one massively big win in her career, even if she couldn't win the actual title. As for Serena, well, she didn't need a Calendar Year Slam to prove she's right up there amongst the best the sport has ever seen. The fact that she got that close speaks volumes about her talent****. And yes, being a Roger fan I'm a bit gutted he didn't win, but hey, c'est la vie****.**

**And now, here's the update. I look forward to hearing your thoughts :)**

Rachel walked into the main clubhouse of the Billie Jean King National Tennis Center and felt goose bumps erupt on her arm when she was met with the sight of her own face grinning back at her. The framed larger-than-life glossy picture was taken just after Rachel was handed her shiny new trophy, and for a moment the brunette was transported back to that magical night at the Arthur Ashe Stadium. Her gaze drifted slightly to the left where Sebastian Smythe looked just as pleased in his own frame, his fingers white and bloodless as they gripped the trophy he'd won for defeating Cooper Anderson in a four-set battle that was much closer than the final score suggested. Rachel had met her fellow champion at a photo-shoot arranged by the USTA on the morning after the men's final, and recalled wondering if she looked as giddy as the Australian as they posed alongside one another, still holding on to their shiny prizes, atop the Empire State Building.

The brunette marched onwards to her destination, smiling politely at the few people milling about the relatively empty foyer, when she stopped in her tracks at the sound of a squeal. Looking up she saw a group of people emerging from the hallway that led to the women's locker rooms, with a young Asian woman literally pointing at the American teenager. Rachel already knew she was looking at a tour group enjoying a behind-the-scenes look at the tennis facility when the guide stepped forward and headed straight for Rachel.

"Hello, Ms. Berry," the middle-aged man said politely, smiling down at her. "May I first congratulate you on winning your first Major."

Rachel blinked. It had been over two weeks, and she still couldn't believe it herself. She quickly ran her eyes over the name tag the man was wearing over his left breast pocket before meeting his eyes with a smile of her own, "Thank you, Dave."

The man, Dave, gestured to the group behind him, "Would you mind signing a couple of autographs and maybe taking a few pictures? I know it'll make this tour extra special for these guys."

"It'll be my pleasure," Rachel grinned.

It was a good fifteen minutes before she was on her way again, and this time she stared down at her phone as she walked. The American champion had asked to take a picture of her own with Dave after she was done obliging the autograph and photograph seekers, and was uploading the shot to her Twitter account as she headed to the Players' Lounge. '_The good folks at the Billie Jean King National Tennis Center work just as hard even when the eyes of the tennis world aren't fixated on them_,' she captioned the image, before uploading the tweet to share with her half-a-million followers and pocketing her phone.

The brunette continued onwards to the Players' Lounge, marveling at how quiet the tennis facility was compared to the hustle and bustle of just a few weeks ago. The New Yorker had trained at the facility for years as a junior, but even then the place had seemed fuller thanks to the chatter of her fellow Academy protégés and the coaches and trainers that mentored them. This eerie silence was definitely new, and not how Rachel would like to remember place.

Stepping into the Players' Lounge, she smiled at the sight of Quinn Fabray bent over an open book placed on a table, a pencil in her right hand moving swiftly across the page. The teenager glanced at her watch, wondering just when the blonde had gotten to the tennis center when she herself was still a quarter of an hour early to the meeting they were both there for. She slowly approached the World No.1, who still hadn't registered her presence in the room, her memory reminding her that the book Quinn was bent over appeared to be the same one she'd seen her holding in Paris and spotted lying around her Cincinnati apartment a couple of months ago. Not wanting to startle the other woman, Rachel gently cleared her throat as she headed to the leather couch Quinn was half sitting on with her body angled towards the table before her.

Sure enough, hazel eyes were upon her in an instant, before the blonde's face broke out into a smile. Shutting the book, which the brunette noted was indeed the same leather journal she'd seen a few times before, Quinn propped the pencil behind her ear and stood to embrace her fellow tennis player. "Hey Rach," she husked.

"Hey yourself", the brunette smiled against her friends cheek, allowing herself a moment to indulge in the warm hug and smell of strawberries that wafted off the blonde's hair before stepping off her tiptoes and taking a seat. "You're early."

Quinn gave a shrug of her shoulders as she too sat back down, "My flight got in a little ahead of time. I was thinking of checking in with Frannie at Cheerio but I figured she'd be smashed with the lunch rush, so I just came straight here."

Rachel nodded, following the logic, "The restaurant has been getting some good reviews."

Quinn looked proud, "Yeah. Frannie and her team have been working hard."

"It's definitely paying off," Rachel smiled, "My parents tried getting a table there last night, and couldn't. Of course, they only called at six o'clock, but that's still pretty amazing for a Tuesday night."

"You should have called me," Quinn said, a tiny frown line appearing between her eyebrows. "I could have gotten them a table."

Rachel laughed lightly, "It's ok Quinn, it wasn't the end of the world for Daddy and Papa."

"That's not the point" Quinn replied, her features indignant. "Your friend _owns_ the restaurant, which basically means you can get a table in seconds even if there's a line half-a-mile long out the door."

The brunette took a deep breath before admitting, "Ok, I _did_ consider it. I just didn't…" she trailed off, before letting out a little huff.

"You didn't want me to think you were taking advantage of me" Quinn finished for her, and Rachel nodded begrudgingly. Quinn shook her head, her expression softening, "Rach, if you were someone I barely ever saw or spoke to that called me out of the blue to ask me for a favour then yes, I'd probably have some reservations about getting you a reservation." The brunette smiled at her friend's obvious play on words. "But, seeing that I get more texts from you than I do from my own mother, I think it's absolutely fine for you to ask for my help with something as trivial as getting a table at Cheerio. It's not like you're asking me for a kidney. Capish?" she finished, her eyes playfully narrowed at the teenager.

"Capisco," the young brunette relented.

Quinn sat back in her chair, her expression smug, "Good. Let me know when your fathers want to go to Cheerio and I'll make the reservation. And tell them this one's on the house." Rachel protested, but Quinn simply raised an eyebrow and asked, "Do you really want to lose another argument?"

It was Rachel's turn to glare at Quinn, "Sometimes I want to strangle you."

"Yeah, I always thought you'd be the kind to resort to underhanded means to win," Quinn quipped back, causing Rachel's eyes to widen as she let out a gasp. The blonde roared at her reaction, leaning her head back against the couch as she laughed. Rachel stared at her profile, a smile tugging at her own lips at the sight of Quinn's arched throat bobbing up and down as she giggled.

Quinn's laughter hadn't subsided yet when Marley Rose and Emma Pillsbury entered the Players' Lounge and walked towards the two women. "Did she start drinking early today?" Marley asked in lieu of a proper greeting as she took the armchair closest to Rachel.

"Oh ha ha" Quinn replied drily, wiping her eyes as she sat up straight. "Hey Emma" she greeted the American Fed Cup captain.

"Good morning ladies," the redhead smiled, putting down a folder she was carrying alongside her purse. "I'm glad you could make it. Stephens and Bells are already in Seoul for the start of the year's Asian-swing so it's just going to be the three of us today." The trio nodded their understanding as Emma went on, "To be honest I could have spoken to the three of you individually but, as you Quinn and you Marley already know, I prefer meeting my players together and face-to-face. Rachel, now you know too," she smiled kindly at he newcomer.

Emma opened her folder, and uncapped a pen before looking up at Quinn, "When do you head to Asia?"

"On the 23rd," Quinn replied.

"To Tokyo?" Emma frowned. "I was under the impression that Marley was the top seed there."

"So was I," Marley threw in, looking mildly confused.

"I'm leaving for _Asia_ on the 23rd, but I'm going to Singapore first" Quinn clarified with a wave of her hand. "Sponsors stuff," she added.

"Ah, ok" Emma said, now looking all caught up, "So you're playing Beijing, right?"

"Yes, and then Moscow and Istanbul" Quinn stated.

"And you're playing Tokyo, Beijing, Moscow and Istanbul, is that correct?" Emma addressed Marley, who nodded.

"What about you?" the captain asked Rachel.

"My schedule is the same as Marley's," the young brunette answered.

"Oh right, you qualified for Turkey too," Marley said, her eyes bright. "Congratulations!"

"Thank you. I can barely believe it," Rachel said.

"I don't blame you. It's quite the feat to pull off in your freshman year. I only qualified for the first time last year. It's an amazing experience. I think you'll have a great time," the taller brunette said.

Emma cleared her throat before getting their discussion back on track, "Well, Stephens and Bells will both be playing the main draws in Tokyo and then at least the qualifying rounds of Beijing and Moscow, so everyone's schedules overlap for the most part. They will also be playing in Osaka the week after Beijing, which is why we've set up our weeklong camp there. I was hoping the five of you could try and hit together a few times when you're on the road, in pairs and even doubles teams. All the tennis centers you'll be playing at have designated clay courts, and I encourage you to have a hit on them if you feel they won't really affect your play in the hard court tournaments you'll be competing in. If switching back and forth from hard to clay gets too tough then try and get some doubles play on the hard courts so the five of you get a better understanding of each other's games. That'll help me decide on our doubles pair for Paris."

The trio of players nodded, and Quinn asked, "Will you be staying with us after Osaka?"

"Yes," the redhead answered, "I'll travel to Moscow and Istanbul before the three of you fly over to France. That way I can supervise some more of your practice sessions. Stephens and Bells will come back stateside for a few days while you three compete at the year-end championships and then meet us in Paris."

"Do we know what the French squad is going to look like?" Rachel wondered out loud.

"Fleur Delacour is a definite for two singles rubbers," Emma said, glancing down at her notes, "and I believe Mauresmo will pick Danielle Fournier to play the other two singles matches."

"Not Alex Vause?" Quinn asked.

"No. I don't think she's completely match fit yet after her long injury lay off, especially for something as grueling as two singles matches on clay two days apart. If anything, I think Vause will play doubles alongside Sophia Burset. Or Gabrielle Delacour. We aren't the only ones with an undecided doubles team," Emma replied.

The redhead glanced at the three women, "In the spirit of complete honesty, I should let the five of you know that at this point it's looking like Quinn and Rachel will play the singles matches, and Marley, I'm thinking you and Bells will be our doubles team. I know you're the higher ranked player, but I think Rachel's game is better suited to the clay court."

"I'd guessed as much," Marley said, her body language indicating that she had anticipated the call.

"That said, I want all of you to train just as hard for the singles as well as the doubles. You never know who might pick up an injury, or who will crumble under nerves. I'd like to have all my options open. And Marley, I don't think you have a terrible clay court game. In fact, with a little bit of tweaking I really think you'll be hard to beat on dirt," Emma finished sincerely, looking Marley in the eye.

"Feel free to point out the necessary tweaks, Cap!" Marley grinned, prompting the other women to laugh at her enthusiasm. "Quit laughing, Fabray," Marley said, mock glaring at the blonde, "I might just beat you to a French title. You too, Berry!"

"Yes, well, we'll see what happens in eight months," Emma said, smiling. She pulled some DVD cases out of a sleeve in her folder and began handing them out to the girls, "Right now, here is some footage of our expected French opponents. I've pointed out what I think are the strengths and weaknesses in their games, but feel free to let me know if you think I've missed anything."

Rachel took the case that bore her name. "I have also analyzed what I think are the strengths and weaknesses of your own games. Which is why you each have personalized DVDs," the captain added.

The teenager placed her case in her purse, and observed Quinn and Marley storing theirs away in their bags too. "I really think we have a shot at winning the title this year. We certainly have the players for it. I still can't believe I have three Grand Slam champions on my squad! It's just a question of bringing our best games on the day," Emma said.

The trifecta of current players listened intently as Emma went over travel arrangements from Istanbul to France, and informed the players they could bill their hotel stays to the USTA in the event they stuck around in Japan, China or Russia to train with the other members of the Fed Cup squad after losing at the respective tournaments. Rachel seriously doubted whether any of the three of them would take the offered money from the USTA but thought it was nice that the organization would look after Stephens and Bells, who weren't as financially secure as the three Grand Slam champions. People often underestimated just how expensive a sport tennis was, with player's having to pay for their own travel and stay across the globe as well as the travel and accommodation bills of their coaches, who were also salaried. Honestly, if you weren't in the top fifty than you really weren't taking much money to the bank.

Emma moved on to checking that all the players had been measured for their uniforms and team kits, and informed them that the clothes would be delivered to them on arrival in France. Finally she asked if the women wanted tickets reserved for their families or staff, and if so, how many. Marley was the only one who asked for tickets for her parents, while Quinn and Rachel declined the offer.

Emma glanced at her notes, "Alright, well that just about sums up everything I wanted to talk about. I'll have the information typed up and sent out by this weekend, just so there's no confusion at any point. Did any of you have any questions?"

Rachel, Quinn and Marley all glanced at each other before shaking their heads in the negative. "Ok. Well, all of you have my number, so feel free to call me or text if you _do_ have any questions, ok?" Emma asked, her gaze stopping briefly on each woman. She nodded once when they all bobbed their heads at her and closed the folder that was now in her lap, "So, what does everyone have planned for the rest of this lovely day?"

Marley was the first to answer, glancing down at her wristwatch, "I'm actually watching the Dolphin's play the Raider's tonight and have a flight to catch, so I should probably get going."

"Wish Finn good luck from me, will you?" Quinn said, watching the dark haired woman stand up.

"I will. It's a pity you aren't coming along to feed the press' love triangle obsession," Marley smirked.

Quinn rolled her eyes, "Yeah, I figured I'd let them get creative for a change. A tiny piece of their collective imagination dies a little bit every time the three of us show up at the same place."

Emma, who had been quickly typing something into her phone, looked up and laughed, "I'm so glad the Internet wasn't such a beast back when I was playing." Her smile disappeared when she received glares from the other three women, and Rachel was reminded of a deer in headlights as she took in the redhead's wide eyes. "Sorry," Emma offered, even though her eyes still held a twinkle.

"Ok, gotta go. Quinn, are we still doing dinner at yours Wednesday?" Marley said, bouncing on the balls of her feet while looking down at the women.

"Yeah. You guys can bring dessert," the blonde answered.

"Will do. And I'll see you in Tokyo, Rachel. When exactly do you get there?" Marley asked, slinging her oversized bag around her shoulder.

"Early on the 22nd," Rachel replied.

"Mmm," Marley said, looking thoughtful, "one day after me. Well, I'll see you there. And I'll see you soon too, Emma. Toodles, ladies." And with that, she left.

"That's one. What are you two doing for the rest of the day?" Emma asked after Marley was out of sight.

Quinn shrugged, "I'm heading back to Miami after I see my sister at the restaurant. She wants me out of there before dinner service."

"Oh yeah, congratulations on that," Emma said, "Will's sister went there a few nights after you opened and she praised it so much that we tried it last weekend too. I was _so_ excited to see all the gluten free options you have. And the food was delicious too. It was like finding heaven!"

"You can't be an athlete and not have healthy choices on the menu at your own food joint," Quinn smiled. "I'm glad you enjoyed your meal."

The two women turned their attention to Rachel, who realized it was her turn to answer Emma's question, "Uh, I live here, so I'll probably just head home and lounge around till my father's come back from work. You know, the usual – dinner, TV, early to bed, early to rise for training."

"Yeah, Sue wants me out on court at seven tomorrow morning too," Quinn sighed. "What about you, Emma?"

Emma had the expression of someone that was waiting for that exact question, "I'm waiting for Will to come get me. We're going to look at a possible wedding venue today."

Emma had begun dating the USTA's Chief of Player Development just weeks after taking over as the American Fed Cup captain in 2009, and thanks to the wonders of social media it was common knowledge that he had popped the question while the pair had been in Italy earlier that year. "When's the big day?" Rachel asked.

"Well, it depends on the availability of the venue we decide to go with. But we were hoping for the 2013 off-season, ideally around the end of November or early December," Emma replied, the joy in her breezy voice apparent. She looked down at her phone when it vibrated in her hands. "Oh, I should switch that off silent mode now" she muttered, almost to herself, before checking the message she'd just received. "He's here."

Rachel watched the redhead gather her things before rising from her seat. "Thanks again for making yourselves available to see me today. And good luck in Asia. I'll see you guys in a few weeks."

The duo thanked her, and Quinn threw in a "Good luck to you too. You know, with the venue hunt." Rachel watched Emma leave the room before turning her gaze to Quinn, and found the blonde already watching her. For a moment the brunette was taken aback by the intensity of her stare, her own eyes taking in the intelligence that shone through those eyes. That's when it really hit teenager how much she'd missed seeing Quinn over the past couple of weeks. And that she really wasn't ready to part ways with the blonde just yet. She was wondering how to ask the World No. 1 if she wanted to stay in the Players' Lounge and talk for a while longer when the older woman opened her mouth to speak.

"I haven't eaten lunch, have you?"

Fifteen minutes later Rachel was looking around Tortilleria Nixtamal while she and Quinn stood in one corner of the little diner, waiting for their orders to be prepared. "How did you know this place existed?" the brunette asked.

"Santana," Quinn replied.

"Why am I not surprised?" the younger woman said, smiling as she shook her head.

Quinn shrugged, "The woman has a real talent for finding the best places to eat in practically every part of the world. And what's really amazing is that most of the time the places she finds are not what you'd expect to be eating in that geographical location. Like, she found this amazing Thai food place in Doha. And, oh my God, she discovered this fantastic Korean joint in Charleston, of all places."

Rachel raised her eyebrows, "I guess that would explain all the food pictures Brit's been putting up this past week."

"Oh, no," Quinn shook her head, "that was just stuff Santana's abuela's cooked while they've been there." Rachel's eyebrows went even higher if possible, and the blonde laughed at her expression, "I know, the woman _can_ cook! And she keeps piling stuff on to your plate even when you say you're full, usually after your third plate. I suspect San and Brittany have been spending even more time on court and in the gym to work it all off. I know I have to when the tour is in Barcelona."

The two women returned to the counter when their orders were called and walked out the door with their takeaway food. They made the short walk to Corona Park, and sat down on a bench overlooking its famous Unisphere to enjoy their meals. Rachel bit into her taco and literally moaned as she chewed on her first bite. Quinn glanced at her with a knowing smile, "I know, right?" She offered the brunette a bite of her own tamale, trying the taco in exchange, and both women agreed that it was hard to pick which order was better.

Rachel hadn't felt this relaxed in a while. Sighing happily, she leaned back against the bench and watched the water fountain jets dance as she ate. She felt the bench move when Quinn mimicked her by moving back, and for a few moments the two women just sat there in companionable silence. It was the blonde who broke the quiet, "I saw you on Letterman last week."

Rachel turned her head towards Quinn, peering past the shadow the blonde's baseball hat threw over her hazel eyes and thinking that it made Quinn's hazel eyes seem deceptively darker. "Yeah? Did I look as nervous as I felt?"

Quinn let out a melodious laugh, "No. If anything, it looked like you had the audience eating out of your hand."

"Liar," Rachel said, smiling fondly at her friend. "Did you like my Top Ten list?"

"Yeah," Quinn grinned, "I think the '_When it gets quiet, I can hear the Mets being booed_' one was my favourite. But that's probably because I'm a Cubs loyalist."

The pair fell silent again, and Rachel ducked her own head lower to hide behind her own cap when a couple glanced in their direction. She discretely watched them walk away, glad that she and Quinn hadn't been recognized. "Did your life change drastically after you won your first Slam too?"

"Oh yeah," Quinn said, exhaling loudly. "I think I gave television interviews for a solid week after getting back to this part of the world. And I signed five new endorsement deals just on the flight back from London."

Rachel nodded, "I've signed four, and I have to meet Jesse tomorrow to discuss some new offers."

"Mmm. As brutal as it sounds, you never know when you're going to win another Slam. That's why agents and reps work extra hard to milk it after you've won your first Major. Or at least that's what I've been told. Sort've a case of making hay while the sun shines," Quinn shrugged.

Rachel finished the last of her taco, staring up at the Unisphere as she swallowed. She saw Quinn follow her line of sight out of the corner of her eye and heard the blonde comment, "I think it's so amazing that this structure's been around since the mid sixties."

The brunette let out a little laugh as a memory came rushing back to her. Feeling Quinn's gaze on her, she turned to meet questioning eyes, "I watched Men in Black back when I was four and cried when I saw it being destroyed by the alien spacecraft. Daddy and Papa had to drive me here to show me that it was just a movie trick and the Unisphere was actually okay." She blushed at Quinn's _aww_. "It's always been one of my favourite places in New York. I'd often come here after training at the tennis centre."

Quinn looked thoughtful, "Why _did_ you stay here, and not go to the Boca Raton training center? Or Carson?"

Rachel shrugged, "I _was_ given the choices. But I opted to stay here and be home schooled while I trained at the training center. I guess I just didn't want to leave my parents." Quinn nodded, seeming to understand her choice. "Didn't Marley go to Boca Raton?"

"Yeah. She's the standout from her batch," Quinn replied. "And I think Cici has been the highest ranked player from her batch at Carson."

The sound of Aretha Franklin's voice filled the air, crooning '_We said, "Sisters are doin' it for themselves.__Standin' on their own two feet, and ringin' on their own bells. We said, "Sisters are doin' it for themselves_'. The brunette watched with mild amusement as the music got louder when Quinn pulled her phone out of her bag and answered it just as the first line began to repeat itself. "Hey Fran," Quinn spoke into the mouthpiece. "I was just grabbing a bite with Rachel." She paused and looked at the teenager, "Frannie says hello. She says hi back Fran." Rachel could hear Francine's muffled voice emerge from the phone, and watched Quinn glance at her wristwatch, "Does 3:30 sound okay? I fly out at 7." A pause, then, "Alright, I'll see you soon. Love you. Bye." She ended the call.

"I love the ringtone" Rachel smiled, her eyes bright.

Quinn put her phone back into her bag and grinned at her friend, "What can I say? I have great taste in music. Plus the only other sisters-related song I could think of was the one from White Christmas, and I thought this one was more apt."

Rachel grinned, "Hey, anything by Aretha has my stamp of approval!" She spotted a dark-haired man peering at the pair of them with some interest, "Do you need to get going so you can see Francine at 3:30?"

"Yeah, I probably should," Quinn replied, and Rachel thought she could sense some disappointment in her tone. The two women stood up and began to walk side-by-side to the street, throwing their rubbish into a bin on their way out of the park. Rachel was glad to see the man hadn't followed them.

"Thank you for lunch," the brunette said, "and introducing me to the place. I'll definite go back there."

"You're welcome," Quinn replied, turning to smile at the shorter woman. "Thanks for coming with. Food is more enjoyable in fine company."

Rachel felt her face heat up at the off-handed compliment, and ducked her head to hide the blush she knew was on her cheeks behind the bill of her cap. If Quinn noticed the blush, she didn't say mention it. Instead, the blonde simply remarked, "Please remember to ask your fathers when they would like to eat at Cheerio, and let me know."

Rachel nodded as the women came to a stop on the sidewalk, and Quinn raised her hand to hail a taxi. Mere seconds later a cab came to a halt before them, prompting Rachel to discreetly roll her eyes, '_Of course you'd have no problem getting a cab the one time you aren't in a tearing rush._' She looked up in surprise when Quinn pulled the door open for her, and with a flourish of her hand indicated that Rachel should get in.

The brunette hesitated for a split second before turning to face the blonde and wrapping her arms around her shoulders in a parting hug. She felt Quinn's own free arm circle her waist, and found herself enjoying one last whiff of the scent of strawberries that still clung to the blonde. Rachel pulled back, and stared up at Quinn, "See you in China."

Quinn's eyes seemed to search her face for a moment, her expression soft, before she nodded, "Good luck in Tokyo. I'll text you the details of this great sushi place San and I found there a few years ago. I mean, sushi places are a dime a dozen there, but this one is particularly good. Or at least I think so."

The brunette smiled at her friend's thoughtfulness as she turned and stepped into the taxi. She peered out of the half rolled down window when Quinn closed the door behind her, "Have a safe flight home, Quinn."

The World No. 1 nodded, lifting her right hand in a half wave as the cab began to move. Rachel kept her eyes on the blonde's form in the rearview mirror, noticing how a rapidly shrinking Quinn kept her own gaze fixed on the moving vehicle for a few moments longer before raising her hand to hail a second cab.


	28. Chapter 28

**Hello everyone! I hope you've had/are having a wonderful weekend. Mine flew by in a blur of social events, but I still managed to get this update completed. Still, don't be surprised if you see a few typos/grammatical errors and, as always, feel free to point them out so I can fix them stat!**

**I swear I have the best readers, and I thank everyone that made the time to write me feedback. If you haven't written in feedback from a guest account them my replies to your kind words and critiques should already be in your inboxes. If you have written in from a guest account then let me use this space to give you my thanks. Some guests sent me some incredibly sweet reviews, for which I am truly grateful. **

**Life has been so busy that I'm considering changing my style of writing and just setting aside half an hour everyday to chip at the updates. It's getting harder and harder to set aside half a day to knockout eight pages at a go, so I need to figure out a way around it. I know how much I anticipate updates to my favourite stories, and I don't like putting you guys through endless waits for new chapters. **

**Finally, many thanks to everyone that has followed/favourited myself or my story****. I still can't believe so many people are enjoying it! Yay! **

**And now, here's Chapter 28...**

Rachel covered a yawn with the back of her left hand, using her right one to scroll through a seemingly endless series of text messages between herself and Quinn till she found the one she was looking. Brittany hovered by her side, taking in the sights and sounds of the Ginza district around them as they followed their driver along the sidewalk. From what Rachel could tell the area was very popular with both locals and tourists, who seemed to be out in hordes, enjoying the last night of the weekend.

The driver came to an abrupt halt and Rachel glanced up at the sign above the restaurant they were standing outside of. "You wait here?" the driver asked the two women, who merely nodded back before he disappeared. There was a long queue waiting outside the restaurant, and the brunette noticed a few people intently staring at her and her blonde companion.

"Is this the place?" Brittany asked, running an interested gaze over whatever she could see of the place as they waited outside.

"Yeah," Rachel said, showing her English friend the text from Quinn that read '_Umegaoka Sushi No Midori - Ginza. I always get their __Ultimate Sushi Assortment, Maguro Assortment __and Hotate Aburi Salmon when I'm there__. God, my mouth is watering just thinking about their food!_' The World No. 1 had followed that text with another one that said, '_I recommend asking for a seat at the bar. It's pretty amazing watching their chef's at work. And please, don't send me pictures.'_

Brittany laughed at the messages, "You're going to send her pictures, aren't you?!"

"Duh!" the American grinned, exiting her message inbox and locking her phone.

"Ohiyo gozaimasu," a high-pitched voice spoke up, drawing the attention of both women. "You, The Brit?", a young Japanese woman asked, staring up at the much taller Englishwoman.

Brittany smiled kindly at the girl, who looked to be around their age, "Yes, that would be me."

The Japanese girl's face broke into a grin, and she turned to say something to a group of young people standing a couple of feet away. While she didn't speak the local language, Rachel heard the word 'tennis' enough times to get the gist of what she was saying. The entire group now made it's way over to the duo, and the brunette noted that they were also the cynosure of all other eyes in the vicinity.

The teenager was seriously pondering whether the caps she and Brittany were wearing made them stand out even more when a voice broke her from her musings, "You won America, yes?". Rachel turned to face the young man that had asked the question, and smiled even as she nodded. "Omedetoo gozaimasu," the spikey haired boy grinned, looking impressed. Rachel guessed her confusion must have been visible because a woman standing beside the boy clarified, "Congrats. For win."

"Oh, thank you," Rachel said, making sure the boy that had congratulated her knew her thanks was directed at both of them.

"Shashin onegai shimasu. Photo?" the girl that had first approached them asked, and both tennis players shrugged as if to say 'Sure'. The next thing Rachel knew she and Brittany were surrounded by a half-dozen people their own age, and each of them had a cellphone lens pointed back at their faces. "Hai chiizu!" someone from the group said, milliseconds before a cacophony of clicks filled the air.

"Doomo arigatoo," a man from the group said moments later, slightly bowing to the pair as he did.

This Rachel understood. "You're welcome," she smiled back, and turned to see that Brittany was also gracing the group with one of her dazzling smiles.

The pair watched the group walk back to where they were originally standing. "That has got to be the most respectful group of fans I've ever met," the blonde said without taking her eyes off their retreating figures.

Rachel 'hmm-ed' her agreement, and turned to see their driver heading back their way. "Please, come," he said, gesturing for the tennis players to follow him inside. Rachel almost felt bad they were getting in so quickly when other people had been waiting longer but her guilt was assuaged with the knowledge that someone from the tournament had called ahead earlier that afternoon to reserve seats for her and Brittany, so it wasn't like they were really jumping the queue.

They entered the restaurant and stopped in front of a waitress. The driver said something to her in rapid Japanese then turned to address Rachel and Brittany, "You eat, then come to car. I wait in car."

"Thank you, Takao," Brittany smiled, prompting the driver to quickly bow before exiting the restaurant. The two foreigners followed the waitress to the sushi bar, where the chef's called out a friendly "irasshaimase" upon seeing them, and sat down in the tall chairs she gestured to, eyes immediately drawn to the plates of food going by on the belt.

"It all looks so good," Brittany said turning her cap around so the strap closure now rested in the middle of her forehead. She shrugged at Rachel, "I doubt anyone's going to look up from their food long enough to recognize us in here."

Rachel couldn't argue with that logic and besides, so far wearing a baseball cap low over her eyes hadn't actually seemed to stop anyone from recognizing them. Not that the brunette really minded the attention, to be honest. Her fan experiences so far had been very non-intrusive and harmless, so she didn't hesitate to mimic her English friend by pushing the bill of her cap around to hang over the back of her neck.

The waitress came back their way and Rachel referred to her phone again to order all of Quinn's recommendations before pointing out some other dishes on the menu that caught her eye. Brittany added a few more dishes to their order before the waitress walked away and both women turned back to face the moving belt.

Rachel grabbed a plate before it passed them by and lifted the plastic cover off the top. "Unagi?", she offered, setting the plate between the two of them.

"Yes, please!" Brittany said, helping herself to the eel.

"Mmm," the brunette practically moaned upon taking her first bite, her nostrils flaring with pleasure as she chewed.

Brittany nodded vigorously, clearly enjoying her own piece of the fish. "Wow," she said after she swallowed "what do you want to try next?!"

By the time the waitress returned with their orders, Rachel and Brittany had already devoured some scallops that they picked up as soon as the chef was done searing them, two plates of prawn tempura and a serve of spicy Hamachi with avocado. They thanked the waitress as she set their food down, their appetites nowhere near satisfied quite yet.

"Wait," Rachel said, stopping Brittany from picking up a piece of salmon her chopsticks were hovering over. The American pointed her cellphone at her friend, "Ok. And look happy!"

"Oh trust me," Brittany smiled, deftly picking up the seared fish, "I'm happy!" Rachel clicked the picture just as the blonde brought the morsel to her lips, a look of sheer bliss on her features. The teenager smiled down at the picture, which was framed to include the Englishwoman _and_ the mountain of food they had ordered, before sending it to Quinn with the message '_Thanks for the recommendation ;)_'. Pleased, she locked her phone and dug in.

For long minutes the two women ate in quiet solidarity, only stopping to smile at one another when they happened to catch each other's eye. Eventually Rachel slowed down, no longer feeling as famished as she did when she first entered the restaurant, and from the looks of it Brittany was the same. She watched the blonde stifle a yawn, and seconds later stifled one of her own. "You look as exhausted as I feel," Brittany said.

The brunette ran her tongue over her teeth, checking there were no fish eggs or seaweed stuck in the crevices there, before replying, "You gotta love time zones."

Rachel had landed in Japan the previous night after a fourteen-hour flight from New York to Tokyo that didn't include the six-hour halt in Dubai. As she always did when traveling overseas, the American had set her watch to Japanese time as soon as she had stepped on the plane at JFK, trying to acclimatize her body to the thirteen-hour time difference between the two cities right from the word go. She'd landed at the Narita International Airport just after 6 pm local time, and could barely keep her eyes open in the shower that she'd decided to take right after she'd unpacked. Unfortunately all traces of drowsiness were gone by the time she actually made it to her bed, since it was 8 in the morning in New York and her body had decided it was no longer sleepy. The brunette couldn't recall how long she'd simply lain there with her eyes closed before sleep finally took her.

She was still groggy at breakfast the next morning but there was no time to rest because Shelby had booked them in for a 10 am hit on one of the practice courts at the Ariake Tennis Forest Park. The US Open champion just managed to squeeze in a quick shower after the practice session before she was swept away to participate in a kids clinic along with Marley, Kitty Wilde, Lily Chan, Piper Chapman, Padma and Parvati Patil and Asami Sato, who was hands down the most popular with the kids. The raven-haired tennis player was an outright celebrity in her native Japan, which is something Rachel had quickly clued into after seeing her on at least half a dozen billboards and screens on the drive from the airport to the hotel. The teenager had felt the effects of jetlag hit her a few times during the media-heavy event, but she'd soldiered on and ended up really enjoying the afternoon devoted to children.

Now the weariness was starting to catch up to her again and she glanced down at her wristwatch to check the time, unable to stop another yawn from temporarily immobilizing her. Blinking away the moisture that had pooled in her eyes, she took in the stacks of empty plates before them, "I'm going to sleep _so_ well tonight."

"Oh, yeah," Brittany grinned, dipping a piece of tuna into some wasabi. The blonde swallowed the bite, surveying the food before them as she did, "God, I feel like all I've been done these past few weeks is eat!"

Rachel let out a short laugh, "Yeah, I saw the pictures. I thought you two had been eating out lots, and couldn't believe it when Quinn said that was just food Santana's grandma had been cooking."

Brittany was taking a sip of water but nodded her head vigorously, eyes wide as they stared back at Rachel. Gulping down the drink, she exclaimed, "I know right?! But the food was so good, I couldn't help myself!"

The brunette helped herself to some takoyaki, "Is the rest of Santana's family nice, too?"

"Mm hmm," Brittany said, adding another empty plate to the tall pile, "they were great. Her mom, Maribel, is just the warmest person ever. And her sister Alma's an absolute sweetheart. I mean, you can tell she worship's the ground Sanny walks on, and Sanny's such a great big sister to her. Alma's definitely got San wrapped around her little finger."

"Does she play tennis, too?" Rachel asked.

Brittany shook her head, "No, Alma wants to be a champion swimmer. She's already ranked third in her age group for one hundred and two hundred freestyle and two hundred butterfly, and she's really, really good. San would wake up at five every morning to go watch her train. It was really sweet. I went a couple of times, too."

Rachel stared at her friend for a long moment, before Brittany began to look a little self-conscious under her gaze. "What?", the blonde asked, lowering her eyes but unable to hide the hint of a smile on her lips.

The brunette shook her head, smiling, "Nothing. You just look... happy. I mean, I can feel it coming off you in waves."

She watched her blonde friend cheeks colour and searched her mind for a time when Brittany had ever looked as bashful as she did in that moment. She had come up empty handed when the Englishwoman acknowledged, "I am. Santana's... she's so great, Rach."

The American reached out to squeeze her forearm, genuinely delighted for her friend. Brittany cleared her throat, not meeting Rachel's eye as she half-whispered, "I'm pretty sure I'm in love with her."

"No shit, Sherlock," Rachel stated before she could stop herself, and burst into laughter at the look on Brittany's face. "It isn't hard to see, Brit." The blonde blushed again, and Rachel added in a kinder tone, "And I think it's safe to say Santana feels the same way."

"Really?" Brittany asked, the uncertainty evident in her tone.

"Really," Rachel said, in what she hoped was a reassuring tone, "I mean, I can't claim to know Santana's deepest thoughts but the woman looks completely smitten with you. I mean, some would even call you two disgusting. Not me, personally, but _some_ people" she threw in cheekily. The playful slap she received on her arm a second later wasn't unexpected.

Her phone buzzed, and Rachel quickly lifted it off the counter and unlocked it. She grinned down at the message from Quinn, which read, '_That's just cruel, Berry._' She showed the message to Brittany before taking a new picture of the now almost-empty plates and sending it to Quinn with the caption, '_I would offer to save you some, but..._'

She looked up to see Brittany observing her after she'd locked the screen and placed the phone back on the counter, and was about to ask the blonde if she had anything on her face when Brittany asked, "How is Quinn?"

Rachel leaned back in her seat and tilted her head to the side, "She's good, all things considered." Catching the quizzical look on Brittany's face, she clarified, "Her dad began serving his prison sentence three days ago."

"Oh, I didn't know that. Where'd they send him?" Brittany asked, her brow furrowed.

"FPC Pensacola, in Florida. I looked it up, and it's on a list of the best places to go to prison," Rachel said.

Incredulity was written all over the blonde's face, "There's a _list_ of the best places to go to prison?"

Rachel nodded, a smirk taking over her features, "Indeed there is, with a slideshow and everything. And when you get to the end of the article there's a prompt to go to the next slideshow, which that day was 'Ten Practical Uses For Pet Hair.' Useful stuff, you know?"

The Englishwoman burst out laughing, "Christ! RIP, journalism." She shook her head, "But yeah, poor Quinn."

"Yeah," Rachel said, also sobering up, "but at least it wasn't all over the news this time so she didn't have to deal with any rabid media."

"Small victories," Brittany nodded. "Remind me to send her a thank-you card for recommending this place, will you?"

The waitress approached the pair to ask if they'd like anything else, and Rachel ordered a green tea while Brittany merely requested more water. "And how's the world's unlikeliest pair doing?" the blonde asked when the woman had left them again.

Rachel smiled at the nickname her friend had given Shelby and Jesse, bobbing her head as she replied, "Good! In fact, they've seemed even more relaxed since those pictures of them walking hand-in-hand at MOMA hit the web."

"Were they keeping it secret?" Brittany wondered aloud.

The waitress returned with their drinks and the two women thanked her before Rachel answered, "No. But they also weren't going to go out of their way to tell the world either. I mean, neither of them are really public figures so it's not like anyone outside of the tennis world really cares. It probably would have been a bigger deal if Shelby dated someone much younger than her back in her playing days but, you know, these days the press have younger fish to fry."

Brittany nodded and looked contemplative, prompting Rachel to ask, "What about you and Santana?"

The blonde sighed and seemed to consider her words, "Well, we've talked about it..."

"And?" Rachel pressed her friend.

Brittany sat up straighter, toying with the glass of water in her hands, "And Santana says she's ready to go public when I am. After all, she _has_ been out since the beginning of her career."

"And you've never shied away from telling people you're bisexual," Rachel pointed out, "so why the hesitation now?"

The Englishwoman fell silent for a few moments, and Rachel gave her the time to think. She sipped her tea, watching as a whirl of emotions played out on her friend's face, and was still waiting patiently when Brittany put her thoughts into words, "I feel like I have so much more to achieve, to prove, on the tennis court, and I guess I don't want my relationship with Santana to make more headlines than my tennis. We all saw what happened to Anna Kournikova."

Rachel fought the urge to laugh out loud at her friend's paranoia, "Brit, the world focused on Kournikova's personal life because she barely played three full year's on tour and _never_ won a single singles tournament. She had more of a life off court than on it, so that's a pretty lousy comparison to make."

Brittany didn't look convinced so Rachel continued, "And so what if the press _does_ fixate on your relationship with Santana in the beginning? I think I know you well enough to say with absolute certainty that their gossip mongering isn't going to take your focus off your tennis, and their headlines _will_ change when you start going deep into tournaments on a consistent basis. And God knows Santana isn't going to let anything distract her from winning more Slams!" Rachel gave herself a mental clap on the back when her friend smiled at the mention of her girlfriend's not-so-secret hunger for more success.

Setting her mug down, she turned sincere brown eyes towards her friend, "Look, it's not my place to tell you whether or not you and Santana should come out as a couple. That's a decision for the two of you to make. But, as your friend, I should tell you that I personally don't think there's ever a good reason to hide who you really are from the world. Especially when you have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of." Rachel paused, allowing her words to sink in, then added, "You know, one of the first things Jesse said to me when I signed with him was that the difference between a scandal and just another story is the manner in which the paps get a hold of the news. So just make sure you're in control of how the story breaks if and when you decide to go public, ok? I don't think I could bear reading utter nonsense about my best friend."

"Aww," Brittany said, her face melting into a smile before the blonde leaned over to give Rachel a side hug. She rubbed her hand up and down the American's arm, "You're right Rach. I don't know, maybe I just need to grow a pair."

"Hey, I'm sure it's easier said than done," Rachel said genuinely. "Just remember, I'm on your side, no matter what."

The blonde pulled away, nodding, "Right back at ya', Rach." She looked down, and Rachel followed her gaze to the final piece of their meal sitting on a plate. Brittany gestured at the sushi, "All yours."

Rachel shook her head and moved her body as far away from the plate as she could while still sitting on the tall chair, "Oh no, I can't. I think that might be the straw that breaks the camel's back. Or, you know, the piece of sushi that officially makes the button on my jeans pop."

The Englishwoman laughed, reaching for the tuna, "You certainly have a flair for the dramatic, my friend." She swallowed the bite, added the now empty plate to the tall pile and sat back in her own chair, glass of water in hand, "What about you? Anyone catch your eye?"

Rachel let out an almost-derisive laugh, "When? I've barely had a moment to myself these past few weeks. In fact, my idea of a vacation right now is a single-day where I have nothing scheduled!"

"Yeah yeah, life as a Grand Slam champion sure must be tough," Brittany said drily, a twinkle in her eye giving away her mirth.

Rachel playfully stuck her tongue out at her friend, earning a curious look from the waitress who came back to ask them if they'd like to order dessert. The two players didn't even need to discuss it before politely declining and asking for the cheque. Brittany turned her attention back to Rachel when she walked away, "Seriously, no one? Not even one of the hotties at the New York Fashion Week?"

The brunette shook her head, "I was there for exactly forty-five minutes Brit. Which is how long Jesse insisted I needed to stay to fulfill my contractual obligations to Tissot."

"You looked pretty happy in that picture I saw of you sitting next to Anna Wintour," Brittany pointed out.

"Ok, I'll admit, that was pretty cool", Rachel conceded. "Daddy almost fainted when she walked up to us to have a chat before the show. But what you didn't see in the picture was how exhausted I was after a one-hour one-on-one weights session with Sheldon. I'm pretty sure he had me bench-pressing my actual bodyweight that afternoon."

The cheque arrived and Brittany put a handful of yens into the cheque presenter before Rachel could begin to protest, handing it back to the waitress with a smile and a "Keep the change." "Ok, so no potential love interests then," she said to Rachel, sitting back and downing the last of her water, "but you'll let me know if that changes?"

"Of course," Rachel replied earnestly, "didn't I come running to you with that unrequited crush on Brody Weston?"

"A. That was three years ago, B. He did ask you out, but you weren't keen anymore by the time _he_ was interested, so it wasn't that unrequited, and C. I'm praying your tastes have expanded by now to include people that aren't just narcissistic schmucks," the Englishwoman said, shaking her head and grabbing her bag.

The brunette laughed, finishing her tea before standing alongside her friend, "We'll find out, won't we?!". She stretched out a few kinks in her body, covering another yawn with the back of her hand, then slung her purse over one shoulder.

"Shall we?" Brittany asked, gesturing at the door. "I'm pretty sure I can hear my bed calling out my name. Like a siren."

Nodding, Rachel began the walk out of the restaurant, pulling her cap back around as she moved. She stopped briefly to turn and lift her hand in thanks at the calls of "arigato gizaimasu" that were directed at herself and her blonde friend, before commanding her feet to keep moving forward. The brunette could feel every muscle in her body crying out for rest, her sated belly only adding to her drowsy state. Bed sounded like a very good idea right about now.


	29. Chapter 29

**Hello readers! Yes, it's time for an update. But first, notes...**

**I've spent the last couple of weeks making reference notes for this story, just so I don't lose track of the facts that stand true in the world I've created. It makes it much easier that scrolling through the story looking for something a mentioned in passing in chapter five! Creating the notes has also given me a newfound respect for the likes of Tolkien, Rowling and Martin, who have created these insane worlds, complete with new languages. **

**I have received some wonderful feedback, as I always do, and thank everyone that wrote me a review. As I have mentioned in my replies, it is not my intention to write redundant chapters, and am approaching nee updates going "What do I want to happen in this chapter?" and "What am I trying to set up here?". Thank you all for your patience. Again, I am not writing a slow burn story for the sake of torturing my readers, and am merely progressing it at a pace I think is realistic. **

**Finally, thank you to everyone that is following this story, or has favourited it. It gives me immense pleasure to know that in a matter of moments 294 of you will be notified that this story has been updated. I look forward to hearing your thoughts on it. As always, I welcome praise and constructive criticism.**

**Here we go...**

Rachel stepped into the shared living area, closing her bedroom door behind her and glancing towards the giant TV where Brittany and Santana seemed to be engrossed in another round of Call of Duty.

"Behind you, Brit!" the Latina called out excitedly, her eyes never leaving the screen before her.

"Got him," the Englishwoman replied, her calm tone a complete contrast to that of her girlfriend.

The pair fell silent and Rachel fondly shook her head at them as she made her way to the small dining table, the only sound in the room coming from the video game and the _clacks_ that accompanied the movement of Brittany and Santana's fingers on the controllers.

Rachel sat down at the table and checked her phone to make sure she hadn't missed any calls or texts while she'd been in the shower. Placing her phone back on the table, the teenager adjusted the towel she'd wrapped around her wet hair before waking up her laptop. She yawned as she waited for the machine to boot up properly, absentmindedly wondering if she was feeling the effects of jetlag after the previous night's flight from Tokyo to Beijing and then telling herself that a time zone change of one hour really couldn't make that much of a difference. She blinked back the moisture that had pooled in her eyes, remembering Shelby's warning on the flight over that the air quality in Beijing could potentially affect Rachel's energy and overall health levels whilst in the Chinese capital. The US Open champion silently prayed her coach was wrong and she was just feeling unexpectedly fatigued, maybe just a combination of yesterday afternoon's match and the following late flight out, otherwise she could kiss any chances of matching her semifinal showing in Japan goodbye.

Santana broke Rachel from her thoughts when she huffed out a disgruntled "Oh, for fuck's sake!," and dropped her controller into her lap.

"Language, San," Brittany chastised, missing the Latina rolling her eyes as she continued to play the game alone.

Santana turned to look at Rachel, "I thought you wanted to watch the final after your shower?"

The brunette logged into her email account even as she replied, "I don't have the energy to focus on the television. Sato was leading 5-3 in the first when I came out."

"You don't have the energy to watch TV but you _do_ have the energy to stare at your computer?" Santana asked, raising her eyebrows.

Rachel knew the Latina had a point but she shrugged her shoulders anyway, "Less effort. I'm going to bed as soon as we're done with dinner."

Santana nodded, "Q should be here soon."

"Bloody hell!" Brittany exclaimed, "I died in the same spot _again_!"

"Language, Brit," Santana remarked, earning a gentle slap on the arm from her girlfriend.

"Ow!" the Spaniard said, pretending to rub the spot.

Rachel was shaking her head at their antics when there was a knock on the door, and both women on the couch turned to look at her expectantly. "Seriously, guys," Rachel said, rising slowly, "_I'm_ the one that got here early this morning and could use all the rest possible. But please, don't move your asses off the couch to get the door!"

Rachel's tone didn't match her disgruntled tone, so she wasn't surprised to hear Santana stage whisper, "Has she always been this much of a diva?" as she pulled the door open to see Quinn standing there with a brown paper bag in one hand and a folder of some sort in the other. The backlight in the hallway bounced off the golden locks of Quinn's hair, giving her an almost angelic look in Rachel's eyes.

"Wow, you look exhausted," was the first thing the blonde said upon seeing Rachel.

"Always the charmer, our Quinn," Santana loudly remarked from the couch, but Rachel chose to ignore her as she ushered the World No.1 inside.

"I _feel_ exhausted," Rachel admitted, closing the door and heading back to the table. "I plan on going to sleep as soon as we've eaten."

Quinn nodded, placing the items in her hands on the table. Rachel closed the lid on her laptop again and moved it to a smaller table near one of the walls. By the time she'd walked back to the table Quinn had pulled out six containers from the brown bag and placed them on the table, and was in the process of folding the paper bag a couple of times before placing it under the folder she had brought in. "Come on you two," the older American said, "time for dinner."

Rachel sat down, facing the two other women as they paused their game and walked to the table. Quinn had taken a seat to her left, and Brittany sat down to her right while Santana took the last remaining chair at the table. Quinn moved the containers around so each one went to the right person, "Sea food chow mein for Rachel, sweet and sour pork with white rice for Brittany, and soup dumplings with sticky rice for San." The blonde opened two other containers, "And veggies to share."

The trio murmured out their thanks to the blonde and Santana eyed the only container left with interest, "What did you get yourself?"

Quinn opened the lid off her container and Rachel felt her mouth water at the smell that wafted out of it, "Twice cooked pork with glutinous rice," she replied, unwrapping a pair of chopsticks and mixing the food in the container. "Feel free to try some," she added, her gaze still trained on the food.

The foursome ate in relative silence for a few moments, and again it was Quinn that spoke up, "I'm surprised you guys aren't watching the game."

Rachel was about to swallow the food in her mouth and reply but Brittany beat her to it, "San and I were playing Call of Duty before the match started."

"Ah, ok," Quinn nodded her head in understanding.

"I checked the score on the TV in my room," Rachel added, "Asami was up 5-3."

"Yeah, she'd won the first set while I was meeting with Roz. But Marley had an early break in the second the last time I checked," Quinn said.

"Did Roz fill you in on the final details?" Santana asked.

Quinn nodded as she swallowed, and let her chopsticks rest in the container as she opened the folder that was placed between herself and Rachel. She pulled a sheet of paper out and slid it to the center of the table, "Here's a mockup of the poster."

Rachel was looking at the sheet upside down since it was facing Santana, but it didn't take her long to decipher the words 'Fabray vs Lopez' boldly written between images of each woman staring straight back at the camera lens. There was some smaller print written under those words but Rachel knew she'd have to look at the sheet the right way to be able to read them.

"Wow, the two of you look hot!," Brittany said.

"Can't say I disagree," Santana said, keeping her eyes on the mockup even as she reached for some of the stir-fried vegetables with her chopsticks.

Quinn must have noticed Rachel tilting her head to get a better look at the sheet because she used her free hand to spin the A4–sized piece of paper around to face the brunette. "Thanks," Rachel smiled up at her then turned her full attention to the paper. This time she could read the rest of the writing, which stated 'Live at Madison Square Gardens.' There were about two lines of blank space, then 'Join the world's top-ranked female players and their famous friends on November 24, 2012.'

"Why's there so much blank space?" Rachel asked out loud, done reading.

"For sponsor logos and information on how to get tickets. Plus they'll add the names of our "famous friends" once people officially commit to coming to the exhibition," Quinn explained.

"Has _anyone_ confirmed yet?" Santana asked around a mouthful of food that Rachel was surprised she was polite enough to cover with the back of her hand as she spoke.

"Yeah. Finn's definitely in but he'll be on a bit of a tight schedule. The Dolphin's have an away game the next day." Quinn paused here to think for a second, then added, "I'm pretty sure it's in Seattle. I think. But yeah, he'll come by for the first hour at least. And Puckerman's confirmed too."

"Puckerman, as in, _Noah_ Puckerman?" Rachel asked, her chopsticks hovering in the air halfway to her mouth. The action movie star was the only Puckerman she'd ever heard of.

"Yup, the one and only," Santana answered. "Figures he'd be able to make it. The man's been trying to get into Quinn's pants for years now."

All three women turned their eyes to Quinn after the Spaniard's last statement and Rachel felt _something_ twinge in her belly when the blonde's cheeks coloured. The brunette thought her fellow American would deny her friend's outlandish claim and was mildly surprised when no rebuttal was forthcoming. She racked her brains as she chewed on some noodles, trying to recall any headlines linking the World No. 1 to the movie star, but came up empty. Rachel was saved from dwelling on the subject any longer when Santana asked, "We're still making the announcement on Monday, right?".

This wasn't the first time Rachel was hearing about the exhibition. She knew that Quinn and Santana had been planning it for a few months now as a joint fundraiser for their individual charities Quinn Fabray Foundation and Fundación Santana Lopez. The announcement would be made to coincide with the start of the annual Breast Cancer Awareness month, since proceeds from the exhibition event would go to various breast cancer charities. She knew that Quinn had made it a habit to find different ways to raise funds for the same charities for the past few years now and until this moment thought the exhibition would be it for 2012. Which is why she was surprised when Quinn spoke up again, "I also ran your idea past Roz and she actually thought it was a good one. In fact, she's going to run it past Sandy and a few other people at IMG tonight."

"Well," Santana stated as point out the obvious, "it's guaranteed to raise a lot of money for the cause. And create a lot of headlines. Win-win, right?"

Rachel wondered if she was the only one that was confused and was mildly comforted when she realized that Brittany looked equally lost at sea in regard to the conversation they were witnessing. "Well, I'd say it's definitely going to go ahead, so it might be a good time to start asking our friends if they'd be up for it. Starting with," Quinn turned to face Rachel and Brittany, "you two."

"Did I fall asleep and miss a whole chunk of conversation here?" Rachel asked, earning a husky laugh from Quinn.

"No. San and I have been discussing a side event of sorts to the exhibition in November, which we think is a surefire way to raise more funds for the charities we're supporting," Quinn said, smiling at the brunette.

"Which is...?" Brittany piped up.

"Auctioning dates with tennis players," Santana stated.

"Not dates, per se," Quinn quickly amended, mixing something around in her container as she spoke, "more of a chance to go to dinner with your favourite tennis star, and just hang out for a while."

"Like I said, a dinner _date_," Santana reiterated, deliberately putting extra emphasis on the last word.

Quinn exhaled loudly, "I swear you're such a child sometimes. But yes, we're hoping to auction off the chance to go out to a fancy dinner with your tennis idol. We think it'll raise even more money than the exhibition matches in New York and Barcelona."

"Why is that?" Rachel asked, going with the first of many questions that were currently racing around in her mind.

"Well, with the exhibitions you end up paying to rent the stadium and all the trimmings that come with it like staff, ticketing agencies, limo services and so forth. So in a nutshell, you're not making as much for charity as you actually could. With the auction, well, there's already a plan in place to host a black tie dinner at Cheerio, the night of the exhibition, so we just need to slip the auction in to the night's events, which means no extra costs there. And the dinners will also be at my restaurant. Ergo, more money to charity," Quinn ended, making a sweeping gesture with her hand that wasn't holding her chopsticks as she finished as if to say _ta da!_

"That's pretty clever," Brittany piped up, sliding a hand across the table to squeeze her girlfriend's hand. "How long have you two been planning this?"

"Mmm, we first discussed it in Rome back in May but only really thought it through in the last week or so," Santana shrugged, placing the lid back on her now empty contained before sitting back in her chair.

"Would people have to be at the dinner to bid?" Rachel asked.

"I don't think they should necessarily have to," Quinn said, and Santana backed her up with another half-shrug. "I mean, we were thinking that people who couldn't make it to New York on the day could still maybe bid live online. Or, you know, register a maximum bid they're willing to pay, so they can be notified if they're the highest bidder. This wouldn't be the first time someone's having an auction of this sort so I guess the event management team would look at previous auctions to see what sort of systems were used."

"And the players would be safe on these dates with men that are, for all intents and purposes, strangers to them?" Rachel asked, her tone more curious than accusatory.

"And women," Santana threw in here. To Rachel's quizzical look she clarified, "We're hoping some guys from the ATP will come aboard too. That way there's someone for everyone. And it won't look like we're objectifying our fellow WTA players, because that's not our intention. Plus there's no saying there won't be ladies bidding to take the women out, or men for the men." The short brunette nodded her understanding, so the Latina continued, "And yes, the dates would be as safe as possible. We'll have extra security hovering out of sight during the dates."

"And background checks on the winning bidders to make sure no stalkers with restraining orders slip past us," Quinn added. "You'd be surprised how many players I know have had to take out restraining orders against overzealous fans."

"Do you two have any? Restraining orders taken out, I mean," Brittany clarified.

Santana nodded, "You bet we do. I have four in three different countries, and Quinn has a couple too. Haven't you heard about the guy that was sending her letters in blood all through her last year on the junior tour?"

Rachel's eyes widened, a deep concern for the blonde flaring in her chest. Santana must have sensed that she had a captive audience because she ignored Quinn's quiet, "It's ancient history now, San", and continued with her story. "The guy was, like, over forty and started sending Quinn letters to wherever we were playing in the world. Somehow he knew exactly which hotels Q would be staying in, so sometimes the letters were waiting even before we got there. It was creepy as fuck! Q took out the restraining order before she left for London, but that didn't stop the guy from showing up to watch her play junior Wimbledon!"

"Christ," Brittany muttered, her own brow furrowed as she looked at Quinn, "What did he want?"

The shorter blonde shrugged, "He thought we were destined to be together. He'd send me letters saying we'd been lovers in past lives, and that I was his." Rachel clenched her jaw, feeling intense anger towards a person she'd never even met.

"Wow," Brittany said. "Where is he now?"

"He went to jail for a couple of months, and I honestly don't know what he's been up to since he was released. I haven't heard from him in years, and like they say, no news is good news," Quinn stated, closing the lid on her empty container. She unfolded the brown paper bag and put any empty containers inside it, "In fact, it's Santana here who's had the most recent crazy fan episode. She had a woman from Portugal sending her obviously used underwear in zip lock bags."

Rachel turned her brown eyes to the Latina, but where she felt concern for Quinn she was more amused with the Spaniard's predicament. For her part Santana waved off the worried look she was receiving from Brittany, "She was harmless. But yes, getting back to the matter at hand, thorough background checks will be conducted to make sure no one going to dinner with a psychopath."

The quartet fell silent for a few moments, Santana and Quinn clearly giving the other two women time to process the idea. "Well, you must really have thought this through if even Rachel can't come up with any more questions. This is the woman that asked me questions for a whole hour the first time I tried to explain Cards Against Humanity to her," Brittany finally stated with a smile, causing the other three to laugh and break the tension in the room.

"Yeah, and I only stopped because Brit suggested we just play Boggle instead," Rachel laughed, laughing at the memory. "But she's right, you do seem to be on top of this."

"Well, we still need to see what our managers think," Quinn conceded, "but _if_ we get the green light, would you be willing to eat dinner with a stranger, all in the name of charity?"

The American teenager paused to think for a moment before replying, "I would need to run it by Jesse first, but yes, I'd be happy to if it's for a good cause."

The trio turned to look at Brittany, who simply shrugged, "Me too. And hey, I'd even get a free meal out of it. Winning!"

"If it does go ahead then we'll cover your flights and stay in New York while-" Santana began, but stopped when the Englishwoman put up her hand.

"Thanks, but if the purpose is to raise as much money as you can for charity then I'd rather stay with Rach. Is that cool with you?", the tall blonde asked the New Yorker.

"As if you have to ask, Brit. Daddy and Papa will be delighted to have you live with us again, even if it's just for a few days," Rachel smiled.

"That's settled then," Brittany said, before looking down at her food with a loud sigh, "I can't eat anymore."

Rachel was about to agree with her when her phone pinged, and she picked it up off the table to see a new email notification. She clicked on the mail icon and saw the new message was from Jesse, with a headline that read 'Show this to Brittany and Santana."

"Jesse wants me to show Brit and San something," she muttered, drawing everyone's attention to her as she stared down at her phone.

"What is it?" Santana asked, lifting herself off her chair slightly so she could peer across at Rachel's phone.

Rachel shrugged, "I don't know, I'm waiting for it to load."

Quinn scooted her chair closer to Rachel, and Brittany leaned closer to the American teenager as well. "Yeah, the net's really slow here," Quinn remarked. "Sometimes I worry about how many people know what I'm looking at when I'm in China. I really don't like net neutrality. It feels like an invasion of my privacy."

"Ok, it's loaded!," Rachel said, her excitement diminishing slightly when she saw the email's body contained no words and only a hyperlink to another page. "There's a link to the People magazine website," she said, clicking on it.

Now even Santana came around to stand behind Rachel and all four women silently peered at the progress bar at the top of the screen. When it was halfway complete an article title appeared in bold letters, 'Rising Tennis Star Outed – Pictures!'.

Rachel felt her heart rate accelerate as she turned to look at her English friend, who seemed to have gone pale. "Did anyone see you and Santana? Rachel asked the only logical question.

Brittany shook her head, "No. We only got here two days ago and haven't done anything expect for train and then meet up here or upstairs in Sanny's suite. And we haven't even hit together."

Quinn reached out to place a hand on Santana's forearm, "Let's just wait until the article loads, ok? Maybe it isn't even about Brittany. I mean, her phone would be blowing up with calls by now if it was, right?"

Rachel glanced behind her to see Santana nod her head once, but she could tell the Spaniard was keeping a tight rein on her emotions. Brittany was worriedly chewing her thumbnail, and Rachel let out a loud sigh of relief when the article finally loaded moments later, "Ok, here we go." She scrolled down past an advertisement and stopped at the image of Asami Sato kissing another woman.

The room was silent for a couple of seconds until Quinn let out a quiet laugh, "Now _that_ I was not expecting!"

Rachel felt Santana lean down so her head was right next to her own, "'Outed' my ass! Sato is clearly kissing whoever that woman is in a stadium full of people! Read the article Berry."

The shorter brunette took one last glance at the picture before scrolling down a little and beginning to read out loud, "Asami Sato defeated Marley Rose 6-3, 3-6, 6-1 to win the 2012 Toray Pan Pacific Open. The win in her hometown earned the World No.22 her third career title but will be better remembered for the lip lock the gorgeous Japanese star planted on a female member of her entourage after climbing into her box to celebrate the victory. People magazine sources tell us the lucky woman on the receiving end of the smooch is the former Olympian Korra Tonraq, who represented Japan in judo at the 2008 Beijing Games and is currently gearing up to make her MMA debut in December. People has reached out to the Sato camp for more details on what led to the kiss that has set the tennis world ablaze, but has still to receive a response."

Rachel took a deep breath, then added, "There's a line saying the story is to be updated." She scrolled back to the top of the page to check something, "It was only published ten minutes ago."

"Right after Sato won," Quinn pointed out. "Wow, news travels fast. I'll bet she's still out on court, posing with the trophy."

The American teenager scrolled back down to the article, "There are more pictures, and even a GIF of the two kissing. How fast can people make those things?!"

"They look good together," Brittany pointed out, staring down at a picture of the two women smiling at one another after the kiss, their arms around one another.

"They do," Santana acknowledged. "And Sato has balls to come out the way she did."

Rachel nodded, glancing up at Brittany as she did so. She saw her English friend staring at her girlfriend and recognized the determination in her eyes. She had seen the look before; Brittany had made up her mind.


	30. Chapter 30

**Hi everyone! I've had some free time this week, so I was able to get this chapter ready sooner than I'd expected to. That said, the next two weeks are going to be pretty busy for me, so I apologise in advance if there's a bit of a delay before the next update. Oh, and please let me know what sneaky grammatical errors and incorrect spellings got past me! **

**As usual, I received wonderful comments, critiques and feedback, so thank you to all the register users and the guests that made time to drop me a review. It is always most encouraging when readers do that :) Also, thank you to everyone that's followed/favourited myself or this story. I can't believe I'm one follow away from 300, yes THREE HUNDRED, follows to A Perfect Match! Seriously, wow! **

**I think people will be happy with this next chapter. When reading it, bear in mind that Rachel is an 18-year-old who's spent most of her life completely focused on becoming a tennis champion. It might explain why a bulb hasn't gone off instantaneously! You'll see what I mean! As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts on the chapter. **

**Happy reading, everyone :) **

Rachel put the plates and glasses in the dishwasher and rinsed her hands before walking into the empty living room. The apartment was strangely quiet without the sound of the Play Station games in the background and Santana and Brittany's banter that accompanied the gunshots and over-exaggerated yells that sprang from the screen.

The brunette sat down on the couch, letting the silence surround her for a few moments. The leather sofa was still warm from when she and Shelby were sitting on it a short while ago, eating the pasta Rachel had whipped up while watching videos of the teenager's opening round opponent tomorrow afternoon. The coach and her charge were both confident Rachel would be able to defeat the unseeded Chinese qualifier to win the match, but like Shelby always said, you can never be too prepared.

Rachel glanced up at the clock, noting that it was just before seven in the evening. She turned on the television to check if Brittany's match had begun yet, muting it when she saw Tina Cohen-Chang's match against Sophia Burset was still in progress. Knowing the Englishwoman's match was scheduled to start next, Rachel let the current match play in the background so she wouldn't miss the start of her best friend's first round game. Brittany had drawn Lily Chan in the first round, which in turn had earned her a prime slot on the opening night of the China Open.

Pulling her laptop to her, Rachel opened a new browser window to check her email. There was just one new email, something from Jesse that looked like it was a progress report for her investments. The brunette forwarded the email to her parents, and after a few seconds of contemplation went back to her message inbox, deciding she would actually read the email later when she was in the right frame of mind. Right now Rachel was feeling quite lethargic and just wanted to browse the Internet for a little bit before it was time for bed.

Signing out of her email, Rachel began her daily ritual of checking various tennis sites one at a time. Unsurprisingly, the last forty-eight hours had been full of news about Asami Sato and her new girlfriend. Actual tournament news and results had been relegated to small corners of newspapers as the world's media fixated on the Japanese star and her girlfriend, who was famous in her own right. As expected, Asami had been inundated with questions about her personal life in her post match interview at the Toray Pan Pacific Open, and even Rachel had been unable to resist the temptation to watch a video of the interview. She, Brittany, Santana and Quinn had gathered around the television in Quinn's suite while eating dinner the previous night, watching the dignified manner with which Asami had satisfied the media's curiosity. The Japanese player had stated in no uncertain terms that yes, she was dating Korra Tonraq, yes, she was gay, and yes, she knew she would probably receive some backlash from some people but decided she could deal with the bigots if it meant not having to hide the woman she loved as if Korra were some dirty little secret. Rachel had been tempted to put down her chopsticks and clap when Asami made that last statement, and was heartened by the fact that some members of the press gathered in the room had literally applauded the raven-haired woman when she said that. The Japanese player was due to play her opening round match in Beijing the following night and everyone was interested to see the reception she got from fans in her first proper outing after coming out. As Santana had rightly pointed out though, conservative China probably wouldn't be the best indicator of how Asami would be received in other parts of the world.

Sports Illustrated's tennis page took its own sweet time to load, but when it did Rachel was pleasantly surprised to see a picture of Quinn and Santana seated side-by-side atop a headline stating 'Daily Bagel: Tennis Stars Announce Twin Fundraisers'. She clicked on the words and was taken to a short paragraph that gave an overview of the joint conference the World No.'s 1 and 2 had held just under an hour ago to announce exhibition matches in New York and Barcelona at the end of November to raise funds for their foundations. Since Rachel already knew the details she merely skimmed over the words, noting with some amusement that the two players hadn't revealed details of the auction just yet but had promised that a related "big announcement" would be made in the coming days. The brunette knew for a fact that their management teams were already hard at work getting the details of the event sorted after Roz and Sandy had gotten the official go-ahead two nights ago.

Scrolling down, Rachel read the rest of the tidbits in the article. In a matter of minutes she was caught up on Sam Evans' latest Instagram picture taken at Beijing's beautiful Bird's Nest stadium, Ryder Lynn's tweet stating his concerns about the quality of air in the Chinese capital, a video of Korra Tonraq winning gold at the 2008 Olympics and a picture from the China Open's website of Asami having a practice hit the previous evening with a sea of rainbow flags visible in the background amidst the dozens of fans that had showed up to watch her hit.

The American hit the 'back' button and returned to the main page to see if there were any other articles of interest. A click later she was scrolling through an article about player reactions to Asami coming out, and felt a sense of pride when she saw that everyone person, be they from the WTA or ATP, had thrown their support behind the Japanese star. When she reached the bottom of the article she saw it had been updated recently to include Quinn and Santana's reactions after the pair had been asked about Asami at their conference that evening. According to the article, Quinn had questioned why the media was making such a big deal about it, pointing out that the press wouldn't have been this interested if Asami had kissed a man after winning the tournament and that it was everyone's responsibility to start treating same-sex couples the same as heterosexual ones. The Latina, true to form, had made everyone laugh with her droll reaction, which was quoted as being, "Well, Sato's obviously seen the light. I've been saying for years that the grass really is greener on this side of the fence."

Rachel laughed quietly to herself, typing another address into the navigation bar. She could picture the Spaniard saying that, and if she had to guess she'd say Quinn had good-naturedly rolled her eyes on hearing her best friends' statement. The brunette sort of wished there had been a video of the exchange between the two women and the press because she would have liked to have seen Quinn tell it to the media as it is, and Santana's sarcasm really deserved it's own show.

For the next fifteen minutes or so the New Yorker browsed through different tennis sites but most of the information was more or less the same. Rachel glanced up at the TV when she was done, leaving it on mute when she saw that Cohen-Chang and Burset were still at it in the third set and there was a while to go before Brittany's match began. The teenager paused and contemplated what she was about to do before reaching for the keyboard, going to Google, rapidly typing thirteen characters into the search bar and hitting 'enter'. Within moments Google brought up all the results it could pertaining to one 'Noah Puckerman'.

The brunette stared at the images of the movie star that had appeared at the top of the page and immediately decided she didn't like him. Rachel furrowed her brow at a picture of him appearing to smirk right back at the camera, wondering what had possessed him to get a Mohawk. "I'll bet he thinks it makes him look sexy," she muttered to herself before clicking on the link to his Wikipedia page. Tapping the fingers of her right hand in the area beside the tracking pad she waited impatiently for the page to load, her gaze fixed on the actor's smirking face all the while.

"Finally!" she huffed, ignoring her own voice in her head saying she sounded like a petulant child as she began reading quietly. '_Noah "Puck" Puckerman (born August 17, 1985) is an American actor, singer-songwriter, composer and musician. He is known for his portrayal of Mark Salling in The Young Invincible's film series. He also was a producer on sequels in the franchise._' Rachel ignored most of the rest of the initial overview of actor after that, letting out a bemused laugh when her eyes skimmed over a line stating Puckerman had been voted the Sexiest Man Alive by People Magazine in 2011.

Scrolling down, Rachel bypassed the 'Early Life', 'Music Career' and 'Acting Career' parts of Puckerman's page and went straight to the section marked 'Personal Life'. '_Puckerman was admitted to rehab for substance addiction in 2007, and has abstained from alcohol ever since. He is a sponsor for Alcoholic's Anonymous and has given talks at university campuses across America, highlighting the dangers of alcoholism to students._'

Rachel begrudgingly acknowledged that Puckerman probably wasn't a complete douchebag before beginning on the next paragraph. '_Puckerman began dating the standup comedian Lauren Zizes in 2003, but the pair split up in December 2005. He was in a relationship with Lillian Adler from May 2006 to January 2007. Puckerman dated the model-actress Madison McCarthy after meeting her in rehab, and the pair has a daughter named Beth. They split up months after their child was born in June 2009._'

The American let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She had half been expecting to see Quinn's name on there, her mind flashing back to Santana's crude insinuation that the movie star had been trying to get into the blonde's pants. Recalling that Quinn hadn't actually corrected the Latina, Rachel hit the 'back' button and typed 'Noah Puckerman Quinn Fabray' into the search engine. Without realizing it, she leaned forward to get a better look at the images that showed up at the top of the Google page.

The first picture showed Quinn and Puckerman together on a stage, and a click of the track pad revealed it was a picture of the duo presenting the Team of the Year award at 2010's Laureus World Sports Awards. A caption stated that the second picture was taken at the Vanity Fair Oscar Party in 2011, and the third was a fan created image where someone had clearly photoshopped a trophy away so it looked like Quinn was kissing a smiling Puckerman's cheek instead. Rachel frowned at the morphed image before darting her eyes to the fourth and last picture on the page, which was a mid-shot of Puckerman sitting in a stadium. Rachel clicked on the image, and was informed that it was from a slideshow titled 'Celebrities at Day 11 of the 2012 Australian Open'. She clicked one more time to see the picture on its host web page, and read the accompanying caption '_Noah Puckerman at the Fabray vs Wilde quarterfinal_'.

Returning to the Google page, Rachel clicked on the first of the YouTube videos her last search had brought up. She listened, only half interested, while an unseen interviewer questioned Puckerman at the London premiere of his last The Young Invincible's film and the actor smirked his way through saying what an honour it was to follow in the footsteps of the likes of George Clooney and Brad Pitt to be voted People's Sexiest Man Alive. The brunette looked up at the TV, where Burset was attempting to serve the match out, almost missing Quinn's name when it came out of the speakers of her laptop. Dragging the progress bar back a bit, Rachel let it play again, this time giving it her full attention.

"Ok, let's talk about the ladies now. What are your thoughts on your female counterpart Jennifer Lopez, who was voted the Sexiest Woman Alive this year?" an unseen female voice asked over the background noise at the premiere.

"Oh, you don't need to be a rocket scientist to work out that JLo is one hot mama," Puckerman grinned back at the woman.

"So you think she's the right choice then?" the woman with the Scottish accent pressed.

Puckerman seemed to consider his words for a moment before replying, "Well, she isn't the _wrong_ choice. But I personally would have cast my vote for Quinn Fabray."

"Quinn Fabray? The tennis star?" the interviewer clarified, making Rachel roll her eyes on this side of the laptop. How many Quinn Fabray's did the woman know?!

Puckerman must have wondered the same, before he raised his eyebrows while addressing the woman whose hand could be seen holding up a microphone to his face, "Do you know many other Quinn Fabray's?"

The interviewer stammered, "Well, no... but-"

"Yes, the tennis player," Puckerman interrupted her, and then turned to look straight into the camera, "Believe me, look the woman up if you haven't already seen her. Quinn. Fabray," he enunciated. "And then tell me she isn't the sexiest woman alive."

A handler showed up behind Puckerman, and you could see the movie star glance at him from the corner of his eye. That must have been the interviewer's cue, because she thanked Puckerman for talking to her before the video ended.

Rachel's heart was beating a little faster than usual, but she ignored it as she scrolled past a couple of videos and picked one that showed Puckerman and Quinn on a stage together. While waiting for it to load she realized that Burset had won the match and was in the middle of her on-court interview. Brittany would be out in just a few minutes. The sound of a commercial playing drew her attention back to her computer, and she hit 'skip ad' as soon as it let her.

The video began to play soon after, "And now, please welcome the star of The Young Invincible's, Noah Puckerman and a nominee tonight, Quinn Fabray!" an announcer stated. Even a blind person could see that the smiling duo made a striking pair, Quinn's hand placed on Puckerman's arm as they matched strides to walk to the microphone in the middle of the stage. The actor looked handsome in a sharply tailored black tuxedo, but it was Quinn who really stood out in a pink sleeveless gown that dipped at the neck. Her hair was up in a wrap around braid that was stylishly simple, and the only visible jewelry on her was a pair of teardrop diamond earrings that drew Rachel's attention to her delicately curved neck. The brunette reached for a glass of water while she waited for the applause to die down on her laptop screen.

"Good evening," Puckerman began, "Quinn and I are here tonight to present the Laureus World Team of the Year award. But first, can I get a round of applause for Quinn, who's had another amazing year of results." The gathered audience gave the American tennis star an ovation but judging from the blush that covered Quinn's face, Rachel would wager that Puckerman's words weren't on the teleprompter the pair was supposed to read from.

"Thank you," Quinn husked, when the clapping had subsided.

"Yeah, thank _you_!" Puckerman reiterated, smirking at the audience. "Hopefully that wins me enough brownie points to convince this lady to go on the date I've been begging her for since I first met her!" he winked.

Rachel could hear a smattering of laughter but knew Quinn well enough to tell the blonde wasn't exactly comfortable with the scene that was playing out in front of the whole world's eyes. She felt irritation bubble in her chest at the movie star who clearly thought he was being charming as he grinned at the woman beside him. The brunette stared at the screen where Quinn took one last look at the actor before turning back to face the crowd, "Movie stars, right? Always making everything about them. Even an awards night that isn't about them at all."

The crowd roared in appreciation of Quinn's words, and the tennis star looked amused at the thunderous applause she received from her peers. Beside her Puckerman pouted, obviously not having expected to be the butt of the joke when he came out on stage. When the clapping died down, Quinn smiled down at the audience, "And now, here are the nominees for the 2010 Laureus World Team of the Year." The video cut away from the stage to a montage of the nominees, before ending abruptly.

The American teenager smiled as she hit the 'back' button, her spirits greatly lifted upon seeing Quinn put the movie star in his place. She decided that she'd snooped enough and was about to close the Google search page when an article caught her eye.

_Click._ Rachel found herself on the GQ Magazine's website, staring at an article where some male celebrities were talking about their ideal woman. Scrolling down, she looked for the words she'd seen highlighted on the Google search page and sure enough, she found the section devoted to Noah Puckerman.

'_Noah Puckerman is quite smitten with the gorgeous, not to mention talented, American tennis player Quinn Fabray__. The World No. 3 stunned with both her shot making and her pink hair at the recently concluded Wimbledon Championships, where she finished runner-up to Scotland's Cho Chang. Noah explains, "It's not that Quinn is just gorgeous. I like myself a strong, independent woman who is good at what she does, and her hotness is just the icing on the cake. She's the perfect package. And I really hope she takes me up on my offer of a date sometime soon!" Judging by these pictures, all we can say is the hunky movie star has great taste in his women!_'

Rachel felt her breath hitch and her pulse rate accelerate as she stared at the pictures beneath the paragraph. She hovered the cursor over the images to enlarge them, slowly moving her eyes over pictures of Quinn from tennis tournaments and at red carpet events. Her mouth was already dry by the time she reached the final picture showing the blonde at the beach, a sea of clear blue water providing the backdrop to the postcard-perfect image. The paparazzi shot was obviously taken unbeknownst to Quinn, a zoom lens capturing the tennis star candidly grinning at someone off camera.

The brunette chewed on her lip as she let her gaze linger on the blonde's form. Quinn was clad in a white two-piece, the straw hat on her head casting interesting shadows on her face. Rachel's eyes were drawn to the slightly visible abdominal muscles on her midriff, which managed to look soft despite the fact that it was obviously toned to perfection. The American teenager could feel her cheeks get hotter the longer she stared at the picture, and hit the back button when the burn got to be too much.

Rachel steeled herself to not look at any more links, closing the Google search page once and for all. She could now see the ghost of her own reflection staring back at her as she willed her heart rate to calm down. The mental image of Quinn in that bikini seemed to have seared itself into her memory, and the brunette couldn't quite understand the reactions it was eliciting from her. Was she jealous of Quinn's almost otherworldly good looks? No, it didn't feel like jealousy. Her mind wandered to Puckerman, and she immediately pooh-poohed the idea that she was maybe attracted to the movie star and therefore jealous of Quinn. Really, the very notion was hilarious.

She closed her eyes, once again seeing Quinn in the two-piece. Rachel frowned. This wasn't the first time she'd seen someone with a remarkable figure. Hell, half the women on tour walked around the locker-room in their birthday suits, many of them with abs that outshone Quinn's. So why did the blonde's figure seem so much more remarkable to Rachel?

Her head beginning to hurt, Rachel looked up at the TV screen and was startled to see a close up of Brittany's face on it. She had almost forgotten about the Englishwoman's match as she'd looked up the history between Quinn and Puckerman, and immediately felt guilty when she saw she'd completely missed the warm-up and opening two games. Closing her laptop and placing it back on the table before her, Rachel switched positions so she was lying on the couch, trying to give the television screen her full attention. The task was proving to be easier said that done.


	31. Chapter 31

**Hello everyone! I thought I would start off November with a bang by putting up a new chapter :) But first, notes****...**

**Thank you to everyone that has followed or favourited myself or this story! A Perfect Match now has more than 300 followers (YAY!) and has been favourited almost 115 times too****. I couldn't be more grateful. Also, thank you so much to all my lovely reviewers. Your feedback makes my day, especially the ones that don't just write me to tell me to get a move on with the romantic angle here. On a related note, someone (a guest) asked me to stop torturing my readers. So I feel I must ask; Sir/Ma'am, do you even know what torture is? That's a big word to use for a story that's meant to entertain.**

**There's not much else to report. This month is busy for me, so the next chapter might take a fortnight to come your way. I still don't know how I managed to write this one amidst all the Halloween madness I was involved in! Did you guys have fun trick-or-treating?**

**And now, without further ado, I bring you...THE UPDATE! Ta daaaaa...**

Rachel kept her eyes on the house as it came into view amidst the tall trees, marveling at just how big the place, no, mansion, was when the car finally came to a stop. She stepped out of the car and thanked the driver when he pulled her bags out of the boot. The man bowed politely before stepping back into the car and driving away just as the front door opened to reveal Emma Pillsbury's smiling face.

The redhead's eyes were bright as she headed towards the brunette, "Rachel! Welcome to Osaka."

The American teenager smiled back, "Thank you, Emma."

"Let's head inside," Emma said, gesturing at the door. "Would you like a hand with your bags?"

Rachel's eyes moved over the three pieces of luggage she had with her that were sitting right where the driver had left them, "Yeah, I'd appreciate that. Could you maybe grab one of the suitcases?"

"No problem," Emma said, moving to the bags and reaching for the grey Samsonite suitcase. "Are you sure you'll be able to manage the rest?"

Rachel didn't answer; instead, she secured the purse she was already carrying around one shoulder, slung her tennis kit bag around the other shoulder and pulled up the handle of the deep purple Samsonite. "Lead the way," she smiled.

The two women entered the house and Rachel looked around the main foyer, admiring the tasteful decor. "The USTA thought it would be a good bonding exercise for the team to share a house while we were here," Emma explained as she kept on walking towards a passageway, Rachel following closely behind. "But don't worry, I drew the line at making the five of to you share a single room with bunk beds," the Fed Cup captain winked, before throwing open a door on her left. "This is you."

The redhead stopped just inside the door, immediately moving to push the handle of the suitcase she was lugging behind her down again. Rachel walked past her into the bright and airy room, her eyes immediately drawn to the large wooden king-sized bed. The American felt a wave of exhaustion pass over her as she stared at the mattress, quietly imagining how soft it would feel to fall into. She'd almost forgotten Emma was standing there when the older woman quietly uttered, "I'll leave you to get settled. I imagine you want to have a bit of a rest before I show you around?"

Rachel nodded, grateful that the woman seemed to understand the early morning flight had left her drained. "Alright then," Emma spoke kindly, "come find me when you're ready and I'll give you the tour."

* * *

The light outside was beginning to rapidly fade by the time Rachel emerged from her bedroom that evening. She found Emma making some notes in the living room adjoining the main foyer and sat down wearily in one of the spare armchairs. "Sleep well?," Emma asked.

Rachel nodded, "Like the dead, to be honest. I didn't sleep well in Beijing, and I think that nap made up for the last week. I still feel fatigued though."

"Mmm, that happens sometimes. Hopefully you get a good night's rest tonight, and feel better in the morning," the older woman stated.

"Amen," Rachel replied, before being temporarily immobilized by a yawn.

"Well, while you were sleeping Marley lost to Lopez. So I expect she'll be here at some point tomorrow too," Emma said.

"Santana must have played well," Rachel said. "Marley was in top form. I mean some of the shots coming off her racket were impossible to control."

Emma nodded, "From what I could tell, you held your own pretty well. It wasn't an easy win, by any means." Rachel merely shrugged; a win was a win. The redhead studied her for a moment, then added, "And your quarterfinal showing in Beijing has you at a career high No.6. So congratulations."

This time Rachel smiled, "Thank you, Emma."

Emma returned her smile, then looked back at the papers before her on the small coffee table. She studied them as she spoke, "The rankings sure are hard to get your head around sometimes. I mean, I don't understand how Quinn is going to lose her number one ranking even if she defends her title on Saturday."

"Yeah," Rachel agreed, "I'm not looking forward to having to work it all out in my head when I have to start defending points next season."

"Mmm, especially with your almost unprecedented rise to the top ten in your first year on tour. I think the ITF is considering changing it to a two-year system of some sort, but I can't imagine how that would work either," the captain said. "Oh well, I'd be surprised if Quinn hasn't wrested the top-rank back by the time we're in Paris. Lopez had a strong finish to 2011, and Quinn barely has any points to defend. Should be interesting, with the pressure now on Lopez."

Rachel nodded. She'd heard Santana goading Quinn about taking over the World No.1 ranking from her over the last week, and had been amused by the banter between the two friends. That, along with practice, gym and actual matches had helped her from obsessing over her strange fixation on Quinn's relationship, or lack thereof, with Noah Puckerman. The brunette had also made a conscious effort not to think about the pictures of Quinn in her bikini that had left such a lasting impression on her, especially when she had found her eyes drifting to the blonde's clothed midriff a few times when they'd all been hanging out in one of their apartments in Beijing. On those occasions she'd looked around guiltily, relief washing over her when she saw no one had spotted her obvious staring.

The teenager was lost in thoughts again when Emma broke the silence, "So, would you like the tour?"

Rachel welcomed the distraction, and followed the redhead around as she showed her through the rest of the large house. The place really was enormous with seven bedrooms spread over two levels plus a cinema room, a games room, a laundry, a study, a chef's kitchen, and indoor and outdoor swimming pools. When they got back to the living room, Emma informed Rachel that there was a guest villa a little further down on the estate, where the USTA's Fed Cup support staff was living. That area also contained a state-of-the art gymnasium, sauna and massage room. The American teen's quiet musings on who could have built such a place were answered when Emma added that the house belonged to a former Japanese Olympian-turned-politician.

One thing did strike her though; "How far do we have to travel to the actual tennis courts?"

"That's the best part," Emma said, looking pleased as punch. "The owner's son is on the junior tour, so he had tennis courts built behind the guest villa."

"Clay courts?" Rachel asked, eyebrows raised.

Emma nodded, "There's a clay court, a grass court, an outdoor hard court, a Rebound Ace one to be exact, and an indoor asphalt hard court."

Rachel was impressed, "Is his son any good?"

Emma shrugged, "He's ranked in the top twenty on the junior court. But we'll have to wait till he turns professional in a few years to see how good he really is. I have it on good authority that Sato trains here in the off-season though, so that's how I knew the courts were up to scratch when we first started considering options for where to train in Osaka."

The teenager nodded, then looked around at the relatively empty house, "Where are Bells and Stephens?"

"They're staying closer to the Utsubo Tennis Center while they're playing the tournament. They _were_ here for a couple of days but the commute was a bit too much and would have been a real pain if they're scheduled to play night matches. Which they will be at some point if they stay alive in the tournament," Emma said as way of explanation.

Rachel nodded, and the redhead looked at her wristwatch, "Dinner should be served in half an hour. There's a fantastic chef that lives on the property. Does sushi sound alright for tonight? Or would you like me to ask him for other options?"

"I love sushi," Rachel answered, shaking her head at Emma's offer. The mention of the Japanese cuisine reminded the brunette of the fantastic meal she'd had in Tokyo, which in turn made her think about the woman who'd recommended the place. She decided to end that thought process before it could really even begin, blurting out the first question that came to mind, "Will it just be the two of us eating?"

Emma shook her head, "No, the support staff also eat dinner here with us in the main house. In fact, I think you know one of them."

Rachel's brow furrowed and she tilted her head as she regarded the captain, "I do?"

Emma opened her mouth to answer but was beaten to the explanation by a male voice, "Long time no see, Rach."

Rachel and Emma turned in their seats to look at the tanned man standing in the second doorway leading from the living room to the games room. The US Open champion stared up at the familiar blue eyes twinkling back at her, "Brody?"

"In the flesh," he grinned, moving to where the two women were seated.

Emma's phone rang and she glanced down at the name on her screen before standing up, "I'll leave you two to catch up while I take this." Brody took the seat she had just vacated as the redhead exited the room.

Rachel turned her attention back to Brody, who hadn't appeared to have taken his eyes off her. She looked at his smile, returning it with a less blinding one of her own even as she thought about how there was a time when that look would have dazzled her. "So...," he began, "it's been forever since I've seen you. Congratulations on winning the US Open and, you know, having a phenomenal year overall."

"Thank you," Rachel said, searching her mind for anything she might have read or heard about Brody's own year on tour and drawing a blank. Fortunately, Brody was happy to keep talking.

"I texted you a few times this past year, but never heard back. So I figured you must have changed your old number," he said, earning a nod from Rachel. There was a pause, and Rachel was worried he would ask for her new number before he went on, "I even tweeted you a couple of times, thinking maybe you'd see my messages on there. My handle's broody_brody?"

Rachel shook her head, "No, I don't remember seeing any tweets from you, sorry." The silence that followed was definitely awkward, giving the brunette the chance to reflect on how little she actually knew about the man seated beside her. Yes, she had had a crush on him when she was thirteen, but the attraction was purely physical. And was probably also influenced by the fact that Brody was a star junior at the time, with some success at the junior Slams. When the pair had eventually gone on a date two years later, Rachel remembered being grateful that Brody had opted to take her to the movies since she found she didn't have anything less than superficial to say to him. Which also explained why there was no second date.

"Uh, Emma didn't exactly say what you were doing here. I mean, obviously you aren't playing the Fed Cup, being a man and all," she said, making a half-hearted attempt at a joke while changing the topic.

The blinding smile back on his lips, Brody replied, "I'm here as practice partner, to help whip you ladies into shape for the finals!"

For a reason she couldn't quite put her finger on Rachel took offense to the way he'd phrased his answer, so the tone of her next statement might have sounded less than polite, "Because you weren't able to qualify for any tournaments on the ATP Tour this week?"

She was actually disappointed when her rudeness didn't seem to register with the man, who shrugged, "Well, I was originally scheduled to play the qualifying rounds of the Tiburon Challenger till the USTA's offer came along. And I figured, why not go hit with two of the world's top four female players? And you know, you, and Stephens and Bells. Who knows, maybe I could learn something from playing with you girls," he winked. "I swear, the fact that you're all super hot wasn't the only motivation behind what my Twitter followers seem to think is a selfless act."

He flashed her what he must have believed to be a winsome grin again, clearly thinking that complimenting her looks was a clever move, but Rachel was quietly seething. First of all, how dare he single out Quinn and Marley as the women worth being there for, when she was fresh off winning her first Grand Slam? GRAND SLAM! And Stephens and Bells had been in the top one hundred for a couple of years now, and deserved respect for their own achievements! '_And he might learn something from us girls? Us higher ranked girls? Big words from someone that's ranked so low I never hear about him in the news! If anything, he's going to learn a thing or two from us women_. _Selfless my ass! And how dare he objectify us, the sexist pig?_'

Rachel knew she would let it rip if she opened her mouth to say anything and it was the knowledge that she had to spend a week around Brody that kept her from telling him off. '_One week, and you never have to see him again_," she repeated to herself in her head, over and over again. Even she was impressed by how neutral her voice sounded when she spoke up, "Sorry, I can't remember if you already told me, but what is _your_ current world ranking?"

Brody looked a bit puzzled at her lack of reaction to his "compliment" and the absence of any verbal gratitude to him for being there to help them train. "Uh, I'm No. 420, at the moment."

"Ah," Rachel said, nodding her head sagely, "for some reason I thought you were in the high five-hundred's, low six-hundreds. My bad."

Emma walked back in to the room, and Rachel welcomed her return, "Sorry, I had to take that." The redhead sat down, "So, I'm sure Brody has already told you that he and Jake Jacob are here in the capacity of hitting partner's this week?"

"I wasn't aware that Jacob is here too," Rachel replied.

"Oh?" Emma said, glancing at Brody. "Well, he is. And the USTA is very grateful to them for agreeing to help. And offering them a wild card each into the main draw of a Slam in 2013 is really the least we could do in return. I sincerely hope it's just the push they need to find their A-games on the ATP Tour," she finished, genuinely.

Rachel looked at Brody with her eyebrows raised, knowing fully well it was no slip of mind that had kept him from mentioning the wild card to her. For once the man seemed to catch on and studiously avoided her gaze. Emma mustn't have noticed the interaction because she kept going, "And Quinn is bringing her regular hitting partner, Chang."

"Mike Chang," Rachel nodded, "I've hit with him a couple of times. He's a really nice guy."

"So I've been told," Emma smiled. "I've never met him, but I know he was a promising junior until a chronic shoulder injury ended his competitive aspirations."

There was silence for a few seconds, Rachel taking the time to appreciate how lucky she had been to not have her dreams derailed by injury. She knew many other juniors hadn't had the same fortune as her. Taking a deep breath, she addressed Emma, "You walked in before Brody could tell me who else was here, as support staff." The brunette sat back and listened as Emma proceeded to provide her with thatt information as well as the tentative training schedule for the next few days. The brunette didn't care if Brody realized he wasn't being asked to actively contribute to their discussion.

* * *

Rachel nursed the hot cup of coffee between her hands as she browsed the morning paper. The brunette's hair was still wet from the swim she'd decided to go for that morning in the outdoor Olympic-sized pool, and somewhere in her head was a thought that she really should go wash the chlorine off her, sooner rather than later. She looked up from her seat at the island table when she heard someone enter the kitchen, and inwardly groaned when Brody approached her.

"Morning, Rach," he smiled, running an appreciative gaze over her. Rachel found herself suddenly wishing she had taken that shower sooner, just so she wasn't in her swimmers. '_At least I'm not in a two-piece_', she consoled herself.

"Good morning, Brody," she answered, before looking back down at the newspaper. She tried not to make a face when the male tennis player poured himself a glass of milk and took a seat beside her.

"I came here to ask if you wanted to go for a swim, but I can see you've already been. Any chance I can convince you to jump back in the water?" he asked.

Rachel looked up to meet his earnest gaze, and shook her head, "I was actually going to shower and head into town for a look around before this evening's scheduled practice. But thank you for the invitation."

"Oh! I can come with you, if you want," Brody said, his eyes lighting up at the idea.

Once again, the American teen shook her head, "You're all ready to swim," she said, gesturing towards the towel slung over his shoulder and the swimming trunks he was already wearing.

Brody took a sip of his milk, before insisting, "I really don't mind. I mean, the pools will still be here when we come back."

Rachel vaguely registered the sound of a car's wheels crunching along the gravel road leading up to the house as she put her hand up, "Really, I'd rather go alone, Brody. I prefer going sightseeing by myself. That way no one has to wait around while I take my own sweet time, and I don't feel the need to rush for anyone else." The half-lie came easily from her lips.

"Ok," Brody relented, albeit begrudgingly. "But maybe you could let me show you around town another time? The guys and I went out on the town a couple of days before you arrived, and I think there are some places you would really like."

A car door slammed shut somewhere, briefly distracting Rachel from wondering how she could politely turn down the invitation. She opted to go with, "Sure, it would be great to go out with the whole team. I could probably talk the girl's into paying for the night out too, as a thank you to the support team."

Brody looked taken aback, "The whole team? No. No, I was hoping it could just be you and me."

Rachel didn't like where this was going, "Just us? Why?"

"Because," Brody smiled, "I'd like to take you out on a date." He reached for her hand, and the brunette was stunned into silence as she stared at his own hand resting atop her more tanned one.

"A date?" she repeated, stupidly. Was there even a polite way to turn one down?

"Yes, a date," Brody grinned, obviously mistaking her lack of verbosity as a positive sign. "Technically, another date, since we've already had our first date."

Something in her peripheral vision caught Rachel's attention, and she turned to see Quinn Fabray taking in the scene before her. The brunette snatched her hand out from under Brody's, not wanting the blonde to get the wrong idea. She watched Quinn's eyes zone in on the action, before slightly narrowed hazel eyes looked up into her own. Rachel stood to greet her, not really registering how fast her heart was beating, or the uneasy feeling going through her at the thought of how her friend might have perceived the scene she'd just witnessed. "Quinn," she smiled tentatively, walking to her friend, "I didn't think you'd be here this soon."

The blonde blinked and the troubled look was gone from her eyes, in it's place a fake smile that made Rachel even more worried for her friend. She returned Rachel's hug, the fake smile still in place when she pulled back to look down at the teenager, "Hi Rach."

The sound of a barstool being pulled along the tiled floor distracted Rachel from wondering why the smile wasn't reaching Quinn's eyes, and a second later Brody approached the pair. "I'm Brody," he said, thrusting a hand towards Quinn. "I'm a huge fan," he added, smile firmly in place.

Quinn shook his hand, but didn't say anything back. She looked between Rachel and Brody, and the brunette could see the wheels turning in her head. It gave Rachel a bad feeling, and she really wished Brody would leave. Now.

Unfortunately, the man had other ideas. "Congratulations on the win yesterday," he said. "It's a pity you still lose the top-rank when the rankings are released tomorrow."

'_What is wrong with this guy?_', Rachel wondered, throwing an incredulous look his way. '_Does he have no filter at all?_'

"Yeah, sometimes you can't have it all," Quinn replied, her words sounding heavy. The tone surprised Rachel, especially since she'd heard the blonde taking Santana's jokes about the ranking in her stride in Beijing just days before.

"So, uh," Quinn said, slinging her backpack higher up on her shoulder while her gaze darted between the room's other two occupants, "I wasn't aware we were allowed to bring guests to the training camp. Or I might have brought someone too."

Rachel's brow furrowed, "Neither was I." She wondered what the blonde meant by that last line. Who would Quinn have brought to Osaka? Quinn for her part now looked confused too, and it took the brunette a moment to catch her drift, "Oh! Brody isn't my guest! He's here as part of the USTA's support staff, as a hitting partner for us."

"Oh," Quinn said, dragging out the word. Rachel unconsciously took a small step away from Brody, thinking she could practically see the wheels turning in Quinn's head. Unfortunately, she still didn't know what she was thinking.

Emma walked into the room, appearing to be searching for something. She stopped when she spotted Quinn, "I heard you pull in! And then I saw your bags by the door, so I just followed the sound of voices. Welcome!" she smiled.

"Thanks Emma," Quinn smiled, and Rachel noted that the grin she gave the redhead wasn't like the fake one she'd directed at her moments before. "This place looks great."

"Oh, you haven't seen the half of it yet! How about I show you to your room, and then I can give you the tour," Emma offered. The blonde nodded, and Emma turned her attention to Rachel, "Would you like to come with, Rachel?"

'_Remember to send Emma a nice Christmas present. Something expensive!_,' Rachel said to herself, nodding vigorously. "Yes please. I'll shower after."

The three women made to leave the room, only Emma really stopping to give it's lone male occupant a friendly half-wave on their way out. Rachel, trailing the other two, was almost out the door when she was forced to pause when he called out her name. She turned to look at him, a questioning look on her face. "Let me know when you're free?" he asked.

She could hear Quinn and Emma's footsteps get further away as she shook her head, "I don't think I'll be free, Brody. Sorry."

"Not at all?" he asked, obviously confused.

"Not at all," Rachel repeated, her words carrying a sense of finality to them. And with that, she turned on her heel and walked out of the kitchen.


	32. Chapter 32

**Hi everyone! It's been way too long since my last update, and I apologise profusely for the delay****. I mean it when I say I enjoy writing this story, but don't have the luxury to work on it as often as I would like to. I already have plans for more stories, but won't get to them until I finish this one. Why bite off more than I can chew, right? I already feel guilty enough when I can't update this one more than a couple of times a month! Hopefully that changes soon.**

**This story has had so many new followers and been favourited quite a few times since I last updated, so thank you to everyone that has clicked those buttons. It's most encouraging as a writer to know that people want to be notified the minute you update a story, so thank you. Also, thank you to everyone that has written me a review. As you probably know by now, I love engaging in conversations about where this story is going, and where you would like to see it go. So keep 'em coming folks!**

**Finally, I'm glad the majority of you are still enjoying the slow burn. That said, I feel like something major is about to happen. Fellow writers will know what I mean when I say my characters write themselves, and I feel like the Rachel in my story is on the brink of a self-revelation. I have tried not to rush it, but at the same time my Rachel is smart, and won't wander around the land of denial longer than I think is realistic. As some of you have pointed out, Quinn seems to be more in tune with her feelings, but I can't say for certain since this story is being written from Rachel's POV :p**

**So, let's get to the next chapter. I have written a longer one as both a thank you to you readers for sticking with the story, and an apology for making you wait so long. I look forward to hearing what you think of it. Happy Thanksgiving, everybody :)**

Rachel glared at her phone screen. How the hell was she supposed to come up with a decent word when all she had was three U's, two I's, an E and a D? The letter-tiles shone back at her as she considered her options. She could play DUI. Or DEE. Or DUE. Her only option was to play the last vowel over or under the T that Brittany had used to play TOXIC for fifty-three points on her last turn, giving her a seventy-nine point lead over Rachel in this latest Words With Friends battle that currently had only eighteen tiles left in the 'bag'. The two had been playing the online game for years now, and their games more-often-than-not got very, very close. Just like the matches they played on court.

The brunette shifted on her side, fiddling with the pillow under her head till she was comfortable in her new position. She was still racking her brains for a word that would give her more than seven measly points when there was a sound signaling a new incoming message within the game. A click of a button brought up the chat window with Brit.S.P.

'_Hey Rach. FaceTime me when you see this? I miss your face!_'

Rachel closed the window, decided DUI was the best she had at the moment and took a second to thank the heavens above for the Z, R and M that replaced the letters she had just played before exiting the game. Those were tiles she could potentially score big points with in her quest to catch up to Brit in this game. She clicked another couple of buttons before propping her phone up against another pillow beside her and listening to the familiar ring of FaceTime trying to connect with her blonde friend.

Said blonde's face grinned at her mere seconds later. "That was quick! I mean, I saw the green dot next to your name but I just figured your Internet was connected."

"Mmm, you messaged while I was lying here, playing my turn against you," Rachel replied, shrugging the shoulder she wasn't laying on.

"Yeah? What time is it there?" Brittany asked.

Rachel glanced up at the wall clock that was in her line of sight, "Just past four in the afternoon."

"Oh, ok. So you're... nine hours ahead of me at the moment," the blonde calculated, beginning to walk somewhere with the phone in her hand. "Mom and Dad send you their love, by the way."

"Give them my love, too," Rachel smiled, watching as her friend stopped in front of the fridge in her family's London-home and pulled out a bottle of orange juice. "You heading out to train soon?"

"Gym," the Englishwoman supplied. "How's your training going?" she asked before bringing the bottle to her mouth, her eyes still fixed on the screen.

Rachel felt her good mood at seeing her friend's face sour, "It could be better. Brody's here."

Brittany's eyes went wide and Rachel was almost amused at how quickly she gulped down the drink in her mouth before blurting, "Brody Weston? He's _there_?"

"Yup. The USTA has hired him and Jake Jacob as hitting partner's for us this week. And Quinn's asked her usual hitting partner Mike Chang to come along as well, but he doesn't get here till tonight," Rachel clarified.

"Ah, ok. And Brody's being annoying?" the blonde asked, taking another sip of the juice.

"Well, he asked me out yesterday," Rachel began, but stopped when Brittany's eyes went wide again and she hurriedly gulped down another mouthful of juice.

"I think I'll hold off on drinking my OJ till after you're done with this story," the blonde said, placing the bottle down on a kitchen counter that was visible in the background before leaning against the same counter and giving Rachel her undivided attention. "He asked you out?"

Rachel nodded, "Yeah, he said that we should hit the town together while we're here. Just him and me, no one else. In a nutshell."

"And what did you say?" Brittany pressed.

"I said no, duh," Rachel replied, rolling her eyes.

"Oh, thank God!" the Englishwoman exhaled, and for a second Rachel was affronted at how relieved her best friend looked. As if she would ever go out with Brody again after that ridiculously boring date!

"How did he take it?" Brittany asked, and Rachel noticed that one of her hands was reaching for the orange juice again.

"Well, I suppose. I didn't really stick around after politely declining, since I wanted to see what Quinn and Emma were doing," the American said.

The hand stopped reaching for the drink again. "Wait. Quinn was there when this happened?," wide blue eyes questioned.

Rachel sighed, "Yeah. She walked into the kitchen as Brody was saying something cheesy about how we'd technically already had our first date." The teenager paused for a moment, a memory suddenly coming back to her, "Quinn seemed to think Brody was my guest, for some reason. But I cleared that up."

"Uh huh," Brittany said, a thoughtful look on her features. "Where is Quinn now? I thought you two would be spending your free time together..." she asked, leaving the question hanging there.

"I haven't actually seen Quinn since yesterday afternoon. The USTA had organized a car to take me into the city so I could look around, and I asked her if she wanted to come with but she said she was tired after the final in Beijing and her early flight out," Rachel said.

"Well, she probably was," Brittany nodded.

"Oh yeah, for sure. She'd even gone to bed before Marley and I got back from our day out later in the evening. Marley took me up on my offer to come with," the teenager added.

"I figured, Rach," the Englishwoman smiled. "So Q didn't train with you guys today?"

"You're picking up Santana's lingo," Rachel smiled fondly, and then shook her head, "And no, Marley and I hit with Brody and Jake this morning, but Emma said Quinn had requested she be allowed to hit the gym in the morning before she trains with us this evening."

Brittany seemed to consider something for a moment, "Did Quinn and Brody speak when she walked in while you two were in the...kitchen, was it?"

"Mm hmm," Rachel said, grabbing her phone and turning so she was laying on her other side. She leaned the phone against another pillow, "He introduced himself and said he was a fan. And then he made an inappropriate comment about how it was a pity she had lost the top rank despite her win. I think it might have put her in a bit of a bad mood."

"His comment? I doubt it. Sanny was making the same digs all week and Q never looked put out. In fact, San told me just last night that she received a singing telegram from Quinn yesterday afternoon about how she should enjoy her short-lived reign at the top," Brittany said, her brow furrowed. Her expression brightened a moment later, "I actually thought that was hilarious!"

Now it was Rachel's turn to crease the gap between her eyebrows, "Hmm. Maybe the comment was more annoying coming from a stranger? Because I was there. And she didn't look happy."

In hindsight the American realized that Quinn actually seemed a bit off even before Brody had made his remark. But she decided not to share that information with Brittany. What was the point anyway? Hadn't they already discussed that Quinn was bone tired after her week in Beijing? That was probably the reason for her weird mood. Yes, that was most certainly why the smile hadn't reached Quinn's eyes.

Brittany shrugged, "Maybe. Or maybe something else was bugging her."

"Like what?" Rachel asked. Brittany's tone had made it sound like she knew something Rachel didn't.

"I don't know," Brittany said, reaching for the juice and bringing it to her lips. "You're the one that's around her, so you'd probably be the best person to figure it out."

The brunette scrutinized her friend, whose blue eyes were trained right on her as she sipped the orange juice. She watched her throat bob up and down a few times as she drained the contents of the bottle, and then smiled at the phone camera with slightly orange lips. "I need to bounce now. Wanna talk later in the week?" Brittany questioned.

* * *

Rachel approached Quinn's room, already dressed in her tennis clothes. Her mind had been distracted as she had gotten dressed, and she had actually almost walked out of her room wearing her hard-court shoes till she'd glanced down and realized her mistake. It had been weird to pack shoes for both hard courts and clay courts when she had been leaving New York, and she couldn't say she was particularly enjoying having to get used to different racket tensions every day either. The brunette still had two hard-court tournaments to compete in before the Fed Cup Finals so she'd scheduled in daily practice times on the hard-courts housed on the property, outside of the USTA-run practice hits on the clay courts. Jake had been happy to hit with her on the indoor asphalt court over the last couple of days, and she was hoping either he or one of her Fed Cup teammates would agree to more intensive hard-court session early tomorrow morning, before the gym session Emma had penciled in.

The brunette stopped outside the door and was about to knock on it when Quinn's slightly agitated voice reached her ears, "I know what I saw."

Rachel stood there with her hand hovering in mid-air, her curiosity piqued by the tense undercurrent in the blonde's tone, "My eyes work just fine, San."

The brunette looked around guiltily, stepping closer to Quinn's closed door when she saw that Marley's door down the hall was still firmly shut. She heard Quinn exhale loudly, and noted that the blonde's tone was slightly less hostile when she next spoke, "Oh yeah? And how exactly do you propose I broach the subject?"

Rachel found herself smiling fondly at her friend's choice of words. Quinn spoke the kind of language you didn't hear often these days; which wasn't to say she spoke Shakespearean English. She just used vocabulary that not many others opted to use in their daily conversations. And the blonde was also one of the few people that didn't revert to shorthand in her text messages either, which the American teenager appreciated even more. Rachel had never been too fond of text lingo, especially when people changed the spellings of words for no apparent reason. For instance, Rachel couldn't understand why someone would use 'lyke' when it took the exact same characters to write 'like'.

A humourless laugh from the other side of the door brought Rachel back to the present, "Uh huh. Yeah, sure. You haven't seen him, San. He looks like he's just stepped out of the pages of Vogue or something. Like a brunette human Ken doll."

The teenager frowned, something stirring in her as she eavesdropped on the conversation. Who was Quinn talking about? Was she interested in someone? Based on Quinn's description, the man was obviously ridiculously good looking. But what was with the blonde's despondent tone? Was her interest not reciprocated? What idiot wouldn't be interested in Quinn Fabray?

Rachel made up her mind that whoever Quinn was talking about wasn't worthy of the blonde's affections. A movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention and she glanced at Marley's door just in time to see a shadow appear under it. Thinking quickly, she took a few paces away from the door and pretended to be approaching it just as the World No.3 opened her own door. "Hey Marley," Rachel smiled, coming to a stop in the same spot she had been occupying mere moments ago.

"Hey Rachel," Marley grinned back, slinging her tennis back around her shoulders.

Quinn's voice carried over from the other side of the door again, "Hold on a sec, San." Rachel heard footsteps heading her way before the door opened and she stood face-to-face with her blonde friend, who was holding her cellphone against her shoulder.

"Hey Quinn," she smiled. "I was just coming to see if you guys were ready to head to the court."

The blonde's eyes darted from herself to Marley, who came to a stop next to Rachel, before she nodded. "Yeah," Quinn said softly, the corners of her lips slightly turned up. She put the phone against her ear, "I gotta go, S."

Rachel could hear the hint of Santana's muffled voice coming through the phone's earpiece, and wondered exactly what the Spaniard had said when Quinn shot a panicked look her way. The brunette got the distinct impression the blonde was worried she had heard whatever it was the Latina had just uttered, and saw relief wash over her features when her own expression remained unchanged. Rachel did raise her eyebrows when more muted words caused Quinn to very obviously blush, and she found herself running an appreciative gaze over the pink tinge that graced the other woman's cheeks as she hurriedly bid goodbye to her friend. Rachel could hear Santana cackling just before Quinn ended the call and picked her tennis bag up off the floor inside her room. It was then that Rachel noticed the black tape over Quinn's left calf muscle.

"Are you hurt?," Rachel asked, as soon as Quinn had closed the door behind her?

The trio set off. "No, I'm not injured, per se. My calf's just been a little tight since the Beijing final, and Dave suggested I strap it to avoid a calf strain."

"Is he here?" Rachel asked, wondering if the physiotherapist had accompanied the blonde to Osaka and, if he had, why she hadn't seen him yet.

"No, he has the week off. But he made me Skype him when I strapped my calf, since he has no faith in my abilities," Quinn smiled. "And I need to Skype him again when I'm talking the tape off. He's also why I wasn't at training this morning. I was given strict instructions to spend quality time with the foam roller in the gym before I put my the leg through the usual drills."

"That sounds horribly painful. But yeah, calf strains are annoying," Marley threw in, leading the way out of the house and to the rose garden they needed to walk through to get to the clay court. "I missed two months of tennis after last year's Australian Open because of a Grade 2 tear. You want to avoid that."

"That's what Dave said," Quinn agreed. "I sort've wish I'd asked Mercedes to come with. I think a deep tissue massage would be very beneficial right about now."

"Ugh!" Marley shuddered, "That sounds even more painful than the foam roller." Quinn merely shrugged.

"How did you guys go at training this morning?" Quinn asked the other two.

"It was more of a light hit than anything else," Rachel responded. "But I should probably give you fair warning that Emma wants us to play sets this evening. Do you think you're good to run around on your leg?"

"There's one way to find out," Quinn quipped, sharing a smile with Rachel.

The clay court came into view, and Rachel rolled her eyes when Brody caught sight of them and waved enthusiastically. "That guy, Brody, insists we met at a training camp in Carson a few years ago, but I swear I have no recollection of ever meeting him," Marley said.

"No, he did actually meet you," Rachel spoke up, turning to address the other brunette. "But at Boca Raton, not Carson."

Marley directed an interested gaze at her. "Huh. How do you know that?"

Rachel was about to relate the story of how Brody came back from a camp at the USTA-center in Boca Raton waxing poetic about the No. 4 ranked junior in the world Marley Rose, leaving out the bit about how his praise had made a thirteen-year-old Rachel stupidly jealous, when the topic of their discussion appeared at Rachel's side. "Lemme grab that for you, Rach," Brody said, reaching for the bag strap slung over Rachel's arm.

The brunette backed up a couple of steps to avoid his outstretched arm, "No thank you, Brody. I am quite capable of carrying the bag myself."

She heard Marley let out a low laugh as she and Quinn continued on through the little gate that led onto the court. She briefly noticed Quinn working the muscles in her jaw before the two women passed her, but didn't have time to dwell on it when Brody reached again, "Are you sure? It looks pretty heavy."

Rachel sighed at the ridiculous display of what he must have thought was chivalry but came across as condescending sexist behaviour, "Trust me, Brody, I'm fine. I've carried this same kit onto tennis courts across the world for years now, and can assure you that I haven't once buckled under its weight."

"Well, if you're sure..." Brody said, stepping in front of her to hold the little gate open for her to pass through.

Rachel decided to forego the manners her fathers had so painstakingly drilled into her as she walked through the gate without thanking Brody. The teenager even picked up the pace to get away from him as quickly as possible, approaching Marley and Quinn who were already standing with Emma. "... on fine-tuning our clay court games. Unfortunately you don't have the luxury of slowly adapting to the surface as you would in the lead up to the French, so we're looking at it from the point of view of what aspects of your hard-court game can be tweaked to be effective on clay. That way you're practically simultaneously prepping for the last tournaments of the year, as well as the Fed Cup final. Hi Rachel!"

Rachel nodded her head at the Fed Cup captain as she came to a stop alongside the trio. Emma had had more or less the same conversation with herself, Marley and Cici before their training session that morning, so the teenager knew the latest talk was more for Quinn's benefit.

"Sounds like a plan," Quinn said, bobbing her head.

"Good," Emma smiled. "Would you three like to warm up then?" The threesome began to turn away when Emma added, "Go easy on the calf, Quinn."

Rachel kept an eye on Quinn through the warm up and light hit that followed, and was appeased to see the blonde didn't seem to be in any real discomfort due to her leg. There _was_ one slightly worrying moment when Rachel and Marley were tossing a medicine ball back and forth to one another while Quinn worked on court movement with Jake. Rachel stood fixed to the spot when the blonde chased down a drop shot and continued to slide forward on the red clay. The brunette was worried the forward momentum might have further aggravated the muscle, and let out a relieved laugh when Quinn calmly came to a stop inches from the net, turned around and tossed a cheeky "You'll have to try harder than that, Jacob," over her shoulder as she walked back to the baseline.

The session ended up entailing a warm up, some stretching, light hitting, agility training and working on court positioning and movement, and Rachel could feel minor spasms in her leg muscles when she, Quinn and Marley stopped to get some much-needed hydration a good while later. Emma looked very happy as she addressed the trio, "You're looking very good out there, ladies. I'm impressed how quickly you're adapting your games to the surface. Good work!" The players acknowledged her praise with bobs of their heads, before she continued, "You've had a good hit, so I was thinking we'd wrap up this session with three competitive games each. Sound good?" The threesome nodded again. "Alright then, let's draw straws to see what order we're going to play in. Shortest one goes first."

That's how Rachel came to be sitting beside Quinn five minutes later, watching Marley and Brody walk to opposite ends of the court. The brunette glanced at the blonde out of the corner of her eye, watching her profile as she typed something into her phone. She turned to look at Quinn more fully when she heard the sound of the screen being locked, "How's the leg?"

"Good," Quinn smiled, "Dave will be relieved. I know I am."

"I'm glad," Rachel grinned, before her attention was diverted by the sound of a tennis ball being smacked. She turned her neck to watch Marley and Brody play out the first point, which was won by Brody.

"So...," Quinn began, not taking her eyes off the action taking place on court, "are you two dating now?"

Rachel whipped her head around to look at the blonde, "Are who two dating?"

Quinn had an almost skeptical look on her features when she turned to Rachel, but that morphed into slight confusion when she took in Rachel's own expression. "You know, you and him," she said, gesturing to Brody with her thumb. "I heard him saying you'd been out on a date."

The blonde arched an eyebrow at the end of her statement, and for a moment Rachel thought about how she'd only ever seen that expression directed at Santana or in post-match interviews after Quinn had been asked a rather silly question. Then her mind processed what Quinn had just said, and she couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out of her. "Yes, we did go out on a date..."

She knew her open-ended answer was ridiculously evasive and her tone could be construed to be that of a girl with a giddy crush, but a part of her was curious to see how the blonde would respond to it. As she had expected, the blonde didn't look impressed and turned her gaze back to the court even as she asked, "And how was it?"

"Well, we went to the movies. It was my first time seeing Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince," Rachel said, her tone nonchalant but her eyes fixed on Quinn's reaction.

She watched the blonde pause, before she slowly turned her head to look at the teenager. "The Half-Blood Prince?" Quinn asked, confusion spelt all over her features. "Hadn't you already seen it?"

"Not before then, no," Rachel shrugged, her eyes shining with mirth. "Then again, it _had_ only been out for a few days when we went to see it."

Something seemed to click in Quinn's head, "So your date with him..."

"Was three years ago," Rachel said, nodding. "Back when we were both in the USTA program and on the junior tour. He came to train in New York some months of the year."

"Oh," Quinn said, her eyes seeming to search Rachel's expression before she turned back to the court. The brunette stayed quiet, letting her friend process that piece of information. She knew pressing the blonde about her slightly standoffish attitude wouldn't get her anywhere right then, but that didn't mean she wasn't going to bring it up at a more opportune time in the near future. They were still silent when Marley and Brody approached the net to change ends, and he stopped to address Rachel before crossing over.

"Pity you're playing Jake and not me, Rach. I was looking actually forward to hitting on you. I mean, with you," he winked.

'_God, where does he get his lines?_" Rachel inwardly groaned. "You get to hit with Marley and Quinn, Brody," she answered evenly, trying not to laugh at the incredulous look she'd seen Quinn shoot his way. "If I were you, I'd be pretty thrilled to be able to hit with two of the world's top three players." She paused to glance in Marley's direction, tilting her head her way when the brunette came to a stop at the baseline, "It isn't polite to keep a lady waiting. Or any opponent, for that matter."

Brody threw her a confused look before heading back on to the court. The brunette watched Quinn track him with her eyes and waited for hazel eyes to land on her again, "I'm guessing you didn't hear me turn him down when he asked me out again yesterday?" She smiled when Quinn shook her head, "Well, I hope I've cleared up any confusion now."

The pair fell into a more comfortable silence than the last one, watching Brody run Marley ragged around the court before hitting a forehand winner and grinning at the World No. 3. Rachel didn't miss the look he threw her from the corner of his eye, checking to see she'd seen him winning the point. It was clear Quinn hasn't missed the glance either when she commented, "He's obviously still into you."

Rachel hmm-ed, "Unfortunately, it appears you're right. Although I think he's more into the idea of who I currently am than anything else. Regrettably for him, I'm not the least bit interested in him any more."

"Not at all?" Quinn asked, her tone carrying traces of doubt.

"Not if he was the last man on earth," Rachel replied.

"Good," Quinn said, her posture relaxing as she sat back in her chair.

"Hmm?" Rachel asked, wondering what the blonde meant by that.

Quinn shrugged one shoulder, "He sorta seems like a bit of a douche bag."

"Yeah," Rachel agreed. "Funnily enough, I think he was always the same. I guess I'm the one that's changed."

"Well, I guess I should say I'm glad you have," the blonde said, smiling softly at the teenager. Rachel returned the smile, glad to see it was reaching Quinn's eyes again.

Brody whooped, and Rachel turned to see him and Marley approaching the net to shake hands. His loud exclamation left her with no doubt as to who had won their little competition, and she rose to get ready to play Jake next. "Good luck," Quinn said softly as Rachel bent down to pick up her racket.

"Thank you, Quinn," Rachel said over her shoulder, patting Marley on the back when they passed one another. "You played well," she told the other woman, then stopped across from Jake.

"Rock, paper, scissors to see who serves first?," the caramel skinned boy grinned.

Three hard fought games later, a sweaty US Open champion shook hands with a very dirty Jake at the net. "That was close," Jake smiled, still gripping Rachel's hand.

The teenager shook her head, returning his smile with a rueful one of her own, "A win is a win."

"Mmm, you were unlucky to mistime that backhand. Otherwise you had me beat. Don't be too hard on yourself," he smiled kindly, releasing her hand before the pair started walking back to their chairs.

"I'll have my revenge tomorrow, Jacob," Rachel mock threatened, which was met by a laugh from the male player.

"I look forward to it, Berry," he threw back, before they parted ways.

Quinn was putting her cellphone down on her chair when Rachel approached the women. "Well played, Rachel," Emma smiled.

"Yeah, you looked good out there," Marley smiled.

Quinn grabbed her racket, and nodded her head at Rachel, "You're going to be a tough act to follow, Berry," she smiled, and then headed off to where Brody was waiting at the net. Rachel dropped her racket onto her kit bag and sat down in the chair she had been occupying before she played her games, taking a big gulp of her drink.

"I know I've already said this, but I am so amazed at how quickly you three have found your clay games again. I thought it would take a couple of days at the very least before you were this competitive," Emma commented, leaning back in her chair with an air of satisfaction around her.

"There's still room for improvement though," Rachel said, still silently berating herself over the backhand she'd messed up on the lone breakpoint she'd had against Jake. Marley hummed her agreement.

"There always is, even when you're in top form," Emma pointed out. "That doesn't change the fact that I'm very pleased with the shape of your games," she smiled.

The trio watched Quinn and Brody approach their respective baselines. "I've asked Brody not to run Quinn around too much," Emma spoke in a low voice. "I would have asked Quinn to take it easy, but we all know how competitive she is."

Marley laughed, "Yeah, asking Brody was probably the smarter option."

The three woman watched Brody and Quinn play out the first point, which ended with Quinn hitting a clean winner past him. The second point ended the same way, after the blonde lured Brody to the net with a clever drop shot and then wrong-footed him with a crosscourt backhand. Rachel caught a frown on her former crush's features at the end of the point, and then found herself glowering at _him_ when he proceeded to send four aces flying past the blonde to win the game. Rachel was a strong believer that the men didn't need to tone their serves and power down when playing mixed doubles against women, but she also knew that the point of this week-long camp in Osaka was to ready the Fed Cup team to play the French women for the title. Brody's superfast serves would serve no purpose other than to win _him_ points in these frankly meaningless mini-competitions. She turned to gauge Emma's reaction to his play and could tell the redhead wasn't too impressed either.

"Well, I guess that's one way of not running her around," Marley muttered under her breath, so only Rachel and Emma could hear her. "It's also one way of being an asshole." Rachel couldn't agree more.

The two changed ends after the first game, and it was plain to see Quinn was in the zone when the blonde walked past them. The blonde reached the baseline and stopped to stretch out her neck muscles before sending down her first serve. The ball sent Brody wide off court, leaving the entire court open for Quinn's return. Brody must have made the obvious assumption that she would hit a winner to the opposite side because he began sprinting to his left, only to be left stranded when she hit a drop shot loaded with backspin just beyond the net. The point was perfectly executed, and Rachel fought the urge to stand up and applaud.

Quinn sent her second serve right into Brody's body, following the ball in to the net and calmly putting his return away with a forehand hit at an acute angle. The ball landed right on the line, and Brody had the gall to approach the net to check the mark.

Quinn's third serve was a fault, and Brody punished her second serve with a forehand hit so hard that both his legs were almost half a meter off the ground when his racket made contact with the ball. Quinn managed to get a racket to it, but there was too much power on the ball for her to be able to control it. "Good shot," the blonde complimented out loud. '_Maybe he'll learn some class from her_,' Rachel thought.

Quinn's next serve was slower than usual, and for a second Rachel wondered what she was thinking. Then the brunette realized the lack of pace had caught Brody off guard and he was forced to move forward to meet the ball, negotiate the spin on it _and_ generate the extra pace he liked to play with. In the end, all he managed was a high return that Quinn put away with ease.

As if to make a point, Quinn ended the game with an ace that was sent down with pinpoint precision. It landed at the very center of the T, right where the service line met the center service line. Rachel got the feeling that she had just witnessed a master class in tennis.

"What's the bet we can expect four more aces now?" Marley whispered.

Rachel glanced at her, and then past her at Emma, who was leaning forward in her chair, watching the action unfold. A buzzing sound caught Rachel's attention, and she looked down at Quinn's phone that was vibrating in silent mode in the chair beside her. It didn't take a genius to work out who the 'S' that was currently trying to call Quinn was. Rachel turned back to the court, where Brody was bouncing the ball. Seconds later, the buzzing sound stopped.

Sure enough, Brody sent a powerful serve straight down the T. It was impossible to say exactly how fast the serve was in the absence of a courtside radar gun, but Rachel was certain it was much faster than the fastest serve Quinn could expect to face on the women's tour. The momentum of sending down the serve propelled Brody all the way to the service line on his own side of the court. To say he looked stunned when the ball flew back past him just before he stopped his forward movement was putting it mildly.

Quinn had met his serve early, taking it on the upward bounce. She'd used the pace to her advantage, and had really just changed its angle to guide it back to the opposite end of the court. In a nutshell, she'd used Brody's brute force against him.

Marley let out a low whistle beside Rachel. "You know, I watch Quinn play shots like that and I think to myself, I have _so_ much to learn." Rachel understood her sentiments exactly.

Brody was still shaking his head as he bounced the ball before his next serve. This time he sent a fast, wide serve, forcing Quinn to lunge for the ball with her backhand. The return was nothing to write home about, and Brody was perfectly poised to meet it in the center of the court. As luck would have it though the ball caught the tape, wobbled for a split second and then spilt over onto Brody's side of the net. All he could do was stare at it in disbelief.

"Fortune favours the brave," Emma said out loud, letting out a little laugh. Rachel didn't miss the annoyed look Brody shot her at her words, before he returned to the baseline.

His third serve was the fastest he'd sent down yet, which was saying a lot. Unfortunately it was hit a bit _too_ hard, and went long.

"Fault," Quinn called from her side of the net.

Brody looked like he wanted to cross the net to check the mark, but Jake called out, "It was definitely long, man."

Another round of buzzing distracted Rachel, and this time she saw a message pop up on Quinn's locked phone screen. She tilted her head at the words from 'S', which appeared to be nonsensical at best.

She looked up again when she heard Brody serve and watched the two players engaged in the first genuine rally of their impromptu game. Brody seemed to have forgotten Emma's request not to run Quinn around too much, or he was blatantly ignoring it, because he had Quinn chasing down balls to every corner of the court. On any other surface the sheer force of his shots would have resulted in outright winners but the slower clay gave Quinn the extra milliseconds needed to get to the balls. Rachel was beginning to feel tired from just watching the two slug it out when Brody hit the ball into the net, and yelled out in frustration. The sound felt suspiciously like music to Rachel's ears.

The Brody that sent down the next serve already looked defeated, and Rachel reflected on how it was really the heart and mind that often separated the best from the rest. You would never see a top player giving up until the very last point had been played. In fact, some of the all time greats had played their best tennis to come back from the brink of defeat. It was no surprise when Brody hit another return wide mere seconds later, officially conceding defeat to Quinn.

Rachel watched the two meet at the net and was mildly surprised to see Quinn quickly pat a dejected looking Brody on the back before he turned to walk away. The blonde headed back their way with a smile that morphed into a grin when Marley literally clapped for her. Quinn's phone began buzzing again, and once again, it was 'S'.

Which reminded Rachel; why would the Latina text Quinn asking how the dick measuring was going?


	33. Chapter 33

**Hello everyone :) Its been about three weeks since my last update, and I apologise for the delay****. I'm a bit hard pressed for time, and one of my beloved dogs had to be put down a couple of weeks ago, so apart from not having any spare time to write, I also lacked the motivation. Losing a pet is like losing a part of yourself, and is thoroughly devastating. That said, I know he is now pain free and in a better place.**

**Your reviews and follows have been wonderful****. As always, I have received mostly kind words of praise as well as a few less flattering critiques of this story. Both are equally welcome, but I do wish that people writing to say they don't like the story or an aspect of it would tell me the reason behind their dislike. It's hard to take things seriously when someone just calls your work stupid, and leaves it at that :p ****It's amusing, yes, but pointless.**

**I'll keep this note short. The aim is to have an another update up before the end of the year, and I'll do my best to meet that self-set deadline. In the meantime, I wish you all a very Merry Christmas. Here's hoping you're on Santa's Nice-List! **

**Happy Holidays, everybody :)**

Rachel took her eyes off the TV screen to focus on the two pairs of feet resting on the coffee table before her. She smiled at the sight, thinking how cute it was that Brittany was resting her left sock-clad foot on Santana's naked right one. Turning to gaze at the pair more fully, she 'aww-ed' out loud at the sight of the Englishwoman tucked into the Spaniard's side. Santana raised a quizzical eyebrow at the New Yorker, her soft expression rendering the usually intimidating gesture harmless.

"I can't help it, you guys look adorable all cuddled up. Like koala bears!," Rachel defended herself with a grin. "Hold on, I wanna take a picture of you two."

Brittany burrowed deeper into her girlfriend and Santana wrapped her arm even more securely around her shoulders. "First up, they're koalas, not koala bears. And secondly, you want to share candid pictures of us with the world just because the cat is out of the bag now?," the dark-skinned half of the pair asked.

Rachel, who was unlocking her phone screen, paused and glanced up at the duo. "Would you rather I not?"

Santana gave up her serious façade, her face breaking into a grin, "Oh, hell no, Berry! This world could use more images of well-known couples doing every day things. Think of this as my good deed for the day." Brittany's muffled giggle reached Rachel's ears as the Latina turned her attention back to the TV, "Just make sure it looks natural. I don't want to look like one of those idiots only _pretend_ to be pondering the meaning of life as they thoughtfully gaze out into the distance. I ain't that vain."

Rachel rolled her eyes, "Of course you aren't." The brunette took the picture and it was one of those rare instances where she was happy with the very first one. She spent the next few minutes tweaking it on Instagram before sending it out into the world, making sure to put in the 'Brittana' hash tag that had begun trending immediately after her two friends made their relationship public two days ago.

That had actually been the day Rachel and Quinn flew in to Moscow with Marley and Emma, and the mild chaos that followed the reveal meant the teenager hadn't spent all that much alone time with the pair. Besides the fact that Santana and Brittany had to train for the Kremlin Cup, which had begun that morning, the couple had been swarmed with requests for print and television interviews, and had photographers trailing them in hordes from the moment they stepped out of the hotel's elevators. Their pre-tournament press meets had turned into media circus shows, and Brittany had later told Rachel that the amount of people crammed into the press room for her interview had reminded her of when they'd gone to see the Rolling Stones perform in London.

To top it all off, Russia's infamous laws meant there were anti-gay protestors and queer-friendly supporters screaming their lungs out outside the Olimpiyskiy Sports Complex either in support of or against the pair. Rachel had been very tempted to climb out of her car and tell a man exactly where he could shove his picket sign when he'd loudly proclaimed how Brittany and Santana were going to eternally burn in hell for their sinful acts as she'd been chauffeured through the gathered mob for training that afternoon. The American hadn't been able to get his hateful words out of her mind since then, and she was supremely grateful to the organizers for giving Santana, Brittany and Asami Sato increased security while they were in Russia for the tournament. Asami's girlfriend Korra had made the trip too, a fact that Rachel had noted with interest since she remembered the Japanese player saying her MMA-star girlfriend rarely traveled to one-off tennis tournaments halfway across the world. Rachel had a sneaky suspicion the professional fighter and her 'buff arms', as Brittany called them, were there to ensure Asami's safety.

Santana stood up and stretched before proclaiming, "I need to pee," and heading off towards her bedroom.

Rachel watched her walk away and suddenly remembered something she had wanted to ask the two. "So, I've been meaning to ask," she began, prompting Brittany to roll her head that was leaning against the back of the couch to the left, "why'd you decide to come out the way you did?"

The blonde blinked, drawing Rachel's attention to how tired her friend looked. Tired, but happy. "Well, you know we didn't want to make a formal announcement or anything. I mean, c'mon, this isn't _news_," she emphasized, earning an agreeable nod from her friend. "So anyway, we bumped into Asami and Korra when we went to pick up our tournament accreditation at Olimpiski, and- Have you ever hung out with them? As a couple?" Rachel shook her head, and the Englishwoman continued, "Well, they're really nice. They were friends for three years before they got together and you can tell they just fit. And it took them about two seconds to work out that San and I were together. So San and I figured, why not just go out on a double date with them, and let the world figure it out themselves."

Santana reemerged from her bedroom near the end of Brittany's statement and sauntered back to the couch. "Did you tell her how we'd definitely decided to do it in Russia anyway?" The blonde shook her head as the Latina sat back down. "Well, Brit and I had decided to do it here because of how archaic the gay laws are in this country. The original plan was to have a date night at the movies or something and hold hands enough so people could put two-and-two together. We thought it could be an up yours to the ass hats that keep the laws in place and maybe even a source of inspiration to people that live here under the oppressive laws and could do with seeing someone brave enough to defy those laws. I know it's easier when you aren't a Russian citizen and you're just here for a week, but still, maybe it'll do someone some good."

"So even though we weren't too keen on the world going bananas over us dating, we figured we might as well try and make something good out of the attention we knew we were going to get," Brittany added.

The trio fell silent, and Rachel knew the two women were processing everything they'd just discussed, just as she herself was. She couldn't imagine living somewhere she couldn't be who she wanted to be, and her heart went out to the millions of people that lived their lives under those circumstances in different parts of the world.

The Latina took a deep breath and broke the silence, "I _was_ surprised by how quickly the media caught on though. My phone was going crazy before we even looked at the dessert menu."

"And 'Brittana' was born before the paycheck arrived," Brittany threw in.

"I actually like the portmanteau you've been given," Rachel observed.

"Really?" Santana asked. "I preferred 'Santittany'."

Brittany let out what sounded like a grunt before lifting her head and resting it on her girlfriend's shoulder. "I'm with Rach. 'Brittana' has more of a flow to it."

The Latina looked down at the blonde with a predatory look. Lowering her voice to a purr, she began saying "Oh, I'll show you fl-", only to be cut off when Rachel shrieked, closed her eyes, covered her ears and started to say 'la la la' over and over again. When she reopened her eyes ten 'Mississippi's' later, Brittany was red in the face from how hard she was laughing and Santana's eyes were shining with mirth.

The memory was one she drew upon in her press conference the next afternoon when she was inevitably asked, for the umpteenth time in the last few days, about the biggest story to emerge from women's tennis that week. The brunette smiled, her mind flashing back to the vision of Brittany wiping tears of laughter from her eyes, before she was brought back to the present.

"As you've said previously, Miss Pierce is your best friend. So the news mustn't have come as a shock to you, right?," a man with a Scottish accent asked.

Rachel decided to use Brittany's own words, "It's still not news to me."

The man looked confused. "I don't follow..."

Rachel took a deep breath, "The war in Afghanistan is news. Pussy Riot being jailed is news. Lance Armstrong's poor decision making is news. Trayvon Martin, sir, is news. Brittany dating Santana is not news."

The press gathered in the room now clamoured to earn the right to ask the next question, with almost everyone raising their hand or speaking up at once. However, the Scottish journalist wasn't done yet. "So you don't think people should be talking about it?"

Rachel looked him in the eye, "No, I don't believe their love life is anyone else's concern, and I don't really understand the level of interest it's generating. Just as I have no interest in the love life of anyone here in this room." The man opened his mouth to say something, but this time Rachel was the one that wasn't finished. Raising her hand to stop him, she continued, "However, if people insist on discussing the fact that two of my friends are in a relationship then I think the context in which it's being spoken about is important. Don't portray them as predatory lesbians trying to gay up the whole tour, or a horn dog's fantasy of two stunning women hooking up."

There was silence for a moment, before a flurry of hands filled the air again. The media handler pointed to a random journalist, who didn't bother to introduce herself. "What's a good context then?"

"How it's ok to be yourself," Rachel promptly replied. "If you look at the stats you'll see that queer kids are often the target of bullying. If these kids can see people they identify with standing tall and being proud of who they are, it'll do them a world of good. On the contrary, imagine being in the closet and seeing gay people, _famous_ gay people, champion athletes, being treated differently by the media just because of their sexual orientation. What sort of message does that send out?" The teenager ran her gaze across the members of the press seated before her, "I know for a fact that Brittany and Santana are making themselves available to speak to LGBTQ publications and websites and any journalist that wants to sit down and talk to them like normal adults, and that they'd love it if the world treated their relationship just like any other. And that's how it should be."

The interview moderator pointed to a journalist as Rachel reached for the glass of water before her. "Hi Bob," Rachel smiled, recognizing the reporter.

"Rachel," the Englishman nodded back. "Many of your fellow WTA colleagues have been asked to comment on the matter these last few days, and it appears to be a rather supportive environment all around. Would you say that is true behind the scenes too?"

The brunette had sipped from her glass while he posed his question, and licked her lips before replying, "Yes, I'd say it's definitely a supportive atmosphere. We've had girls that are out on tour for years now and I've never seen them treated any differently from the rest. They bring their partners to pre-tournament parties and events and, yeah, it's very inclusive. Just like when the girls bring their boyfriends along. The WTA Tour doesn't discriminate," she smiled.

Another journalist was selected. "Oleg Peskov, The Moscow Times," he began. "So the vemen on tour, they are not uncomfortable, sharing locker room vith lesbians?"

Rachel felt a wave of irritation pass thorough her, but managed to prevent her annoyance from showing on her features. Willing her voice to stay calm, she said, "And why would they be uncomfortable?"

The journalist made a derisive sound, as if it was obvious, "Because the lesbians vould look at them, no?"

"And?" Rachel asked, still playing dumb.

"And they might, eh, vot you say... prochest... leer," the reporter said.

"Um, I'm not sure if you've ever been to a women's locker-room, or you know any locker room, although you do appear to work out," Rachel said, immediately thinking that Jesse was going to give her an earful for saying that to the podgy man even as she heard a few sections of the room laugh at her words, "but women do not check each other out in there. And we don't hang out in there for fun either. The locker-room is a place to store your belongings, a pit stop you make before and after games, somewhere you might do some light stretching and put a grip on your racket. And yes, there are showers somewhere in there, so women do walk around butt naked. But no one has the time, or inclination, to spend any more time than is necessary in there, least of all to check their peers out. So, to answer your question, I don't think any of the women on tour are worried about their privacy being violated in the locker-room."

"Yulia Ostrovsky, Sport Express," a woman said, standing up from her seat. Rachel was mildly surprised by the American-tinged accent the woman spoke with, "You have been friends with Pierce for many years now, so you probably have more insight on this story than many others. She's said that she and Santana have been dating for a few months now, and discussed revealing their relationship to the world in depth before actually doing so. Could you provide any more information on that?"

Rachel shrugged, "I know Brittany had some reservations about telling the world about their relationship, which I am sure you can understand. It's unfair that gay athletes have to come out, while straight ones just date whoever they want to and no one blinks an eye. You have to admire the courage it takes to declare yourself out and proud in these times, especially in a world where everyone and their grandmother thinks they get to have an opinion on your life choices. And then sometimes there's pressure from your management to stay in the closet, for fear of turning away potential big money sponsors. Not that Brittany faced any of that pressure, as far as I'm aware. But yeah, I think it was a very ballsy move on Brittany's part especially, since Santana's always been out, and I hope I'll be half as brave if I were to ever date a woman." '_Wait, what?_' Rachel asked herself as the words left her mouth. '_Where did that come from?_'

The room seemed to have gone quiet after the revelation that had surprised even Rachel herself. "So...," Yulia began, her pen-wielding hand hovering in the air before her, "you would date a woman?"

"Umm," Rachel began, trying to clear her head and figure out what would have made her blurt out the unfiltered statement to a room full of reporters, no less. Jesse really wasn't going to be impressed. She'd broken one of his cardinal rules - always give him and his team a head's up before making any big personal revelations. "I believe sexuality is fluid," she said slowly, carefully, "so I guess it's more of a never-say-never kind of thing."

She turned to glance at the media handler; it was a cue that had been worked out by the tournament, allowing the players to silently request the press conferences be ended anytime after the acceptable fifteen minutes were through. The interview moderator must have caught on because she immediately announced, "Last question for Ms. Berry," before selecting the day's final journalist. Rachel said a silent thanks when the reporter moved away from the previous line of questioning and asked about her preparations for her match against Sunshine Corazon the next day instead.

The handler led Rachel out of the room a few short minutes later. The brunette followed her, wishing she'd taken Shelby up on her offer to sit in on her post-match interview. It was an offer the coach made after every match, but more-often-than-not her young charge declined; the only exceptions were when she'd just suffered a difficult loss and could use a friendly face smiling at her from the back of the room.

The American's mind was still ticking away when she reached the locker-room to grab her belongings before she headed back to the hotel. Rachel wasn't naïve; she knew there was a high chance her spur-of-the-moment comment would be taken out of context and splashed all over the internet in no time. Which is why she wanted to speak to her fathers, pronto.

She did just that the second she was in the privacy of the limo that would drive her back to the Hotel National. The tennis player politely asked the driver to please raise the partition between them before pulling her phone out of her pocket. Noting with some guilt that the time in New York would be just before six in the morning, she hit the call button on her phone and listened to the sleepy voice of her Daddy pick up.

"Rach?," Hiram asked, the worry evident in his tone that at the same time was heavy with sleep. "Is everything alright?" Rachel could hear some movement in the background, and her Papa's voice drifted through the phone too, asking who it was. "It's Rachel," Hiram supplied to his partner. "Honey?"

"Hi Daddy. Everything's alright, really. But I wanted to talk to you before you read or heard anything from someone else."

The brunette could almost hear the frown on her father's face when he said, "Um, I'm confused. What would I hear, and from whom?"

"Could you please put the phone on speaker? That way Papa can hear this too," the young New Yorker asked.

"Sure," Hiram agreed. "Done," he said a moment later, his voice sounding more distant.

"Hey baby girl," Leroy called out. "Are you alright? Has something happened?"

God, Rachel missed them so much. "I'm sorry to wake you up so early, but this couldn't really wait. Or maybe it could, and I'm just overreacting."

"Yeah, you're still not making any sense, Rach," Hiram calmly provided.

So Rachel began to relate the story of her press conference, and how she'd blurted out that she might consider dating a woman at some point, and how she was certain her parents were going to read about their bisexual daughter in the morning papers. Hiram and Leroy mostly remained silent at their end, making the occasional non-verbal sound while the tennis player told her story. "I just wanted you to hear it from me, before the media puts some weird spin on it. I'm half-scared I'm going to read an article about a love triangle between myself, Brit and Santana in the evening's papers here."

Rachel could hear her Papa chuckle at her last statement, and cracked a smile herself. Ok, so maybe that last sentence was a bit of an exaggeration.

"Are you done?" Hiram asked, after a moment of silence.

"Yes," Rachel responded, staring out the window at Moscow even as her ears were tuned into sounds coming from half a world away.

"First of all, your Papa and I are so relieved that _you_ are ok. I think we were both a little terrified that something horrible had happened to you when you called this early", Hiram said. "Now, let's see – _are_ you attracted to women?," her Daddy asked kindly.

Leroy's voice reached her ears, "Or was the 'if-I-ever-date-a-woman thing' just something you blurted out in a... what's the word? Not misguided or twisted or reckless..."

"Brash?" she heard Hiram prompt.

"Yeah, thereabouts," Leroy agreed. "Was it maybe a brash attempt to defend your friends? Sort've a way to show solidarity?"

Rachel contemplated the question, a pang of guilt running through her again when she heard one of her fathers yawn. Was she interested in women? Would she date one? Closing her eyes, the brunette allowed her to imagine the possibility, only to have her eyes fly open again when Quinn Fabray's face sprang to mind.

"Rach?," Leroy prompted his daughter.

"I think," she began haltingly, unable to ignore her suddenly increased heart rate, "I wouldn't be opposed to dating a woman. If, you know, the right one came along?"

"Right," Hiram replied. "Thanks for telling us. And that's probably where your statement came from, on a subconscious level. Unless..." Hiram trailed off. Rachel knew that 'unless', and could picture her fathers sharing a look of quiet understanding.

Sure enough, Leroy piped up a second later. "Have you met anyone?" he asked, his tone curious but cautious.

"I'm not sure," Rachel said slowly, before exhaling loudly. She couldn't really think right now. All she felt was overwhelmed.

"Ok," Leroy supplied. "You know your Daddy and I are here if you want to talk."

"I know," the teenager replied, grateful to her parents for not pressing her on the matter. She hesitated a moment, then asked, "You've never told me... was it hard for you two? Coming out?"

"Oh, yeah," Hiram said. "But you have to remember, the world was a different place back then. I like to imagine a young person coming out of the closet today will find more support and acceptance than we did in the late 70's, early 80's."

"How about we tell you all about it when you come home?" Leroy asked.

"I'd like that," Rachel smiled. The brunette had always known that her fathers had dealt with their fair share of struggles when they were young men and then when they'd decided to have her via a surrogate, but they'd never shared the details with her. She knew it was probably because they didn't want to tell her till she was mature enough to understand the situation, and Rachel felt she was there now.

"Ok. Anything else, sweetheart?," Leroy.

"Just that I love you guys," Rachel smiled.

"And we love you, more than you'll ever know," Hiram said. "Now, how about we call you before we leave for work in a couple of hours?"

"Sounds like a plan," Rachel said. "And again, I'm sorry for disturbing your sleep."

"Sometimes I think we've raised her to be too well mannered," she heard her Papa joke with her Daddy. "Good night, or should I say, good day Rach. Talk to you soon darling," Leroy said, before the line went dead.

The brunette locked her phone screen before popping the gadget back into the kangaroo pouch of the Adidas sweatshirt she was wearing. She tilted her head back against the car's leather seats, spotting the hotel where she was staying as it came in to view. She suddenly felt fatigue, both mental and physical, come over her as she allowed her thoughts to drift to something she had been avoiding while speaking to her fathers.

Why had Quinn Fabray's image come to her, unbidden, when she contemplated the prospect of going out with a woman? Rachel was most confounded because she hadn't even been trying to picture any particular woman when her fathers had asked her the question. She closed her eyes again, and this time she allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to _date_ the blonde tennis star. She pictured Quinn smiling just at her, and thought about what it would be like to hold the older girl's hand when they were out together in public. In Rachel's mind, Quinn's palm was soft as it gently pressed against her own. She brought up the sound of the World No. 2's quiet laughter in her head, and the picture of her at the beach that had given Rachel pause the first time she'd seen it. She thought about what it would be like to kiss Quinn.

The car came to a stop, and Rachel reopened her eyes. Her pulse rate had picked up speed again, and there was a foreign, tingling feeling in her chest. It appeared her subconscious had neglected to mention to her that, somewhere along the way, she'd developed feelings for Quinn Fabray.


	34. Chapter 34

**Hello everyone :) Happy 2016 to you all. I hope the year is kind to you all, and that you in turn pay that kindness forward.**

**I think I was being a tad bit optimistic when I said I'd try to have an update up by the end of the year. I'd clearly forgotten how the end of year holidays really turn into one long day for my family and I. And then, somehow, its already the 11th of January! Really, I have no idea how that happened!**

**I won't keep you from the update much longer, so allow me to quickly thank everyone that has followed or favourited myself or the story. A Perfect Match seems to have been favourited a lot more of late, which means I must be doing something right with it! I also got more reviews then ever for the last chapter, and have replied to everyone I could. That said, I'd like to use this space to thank everyone that logged in as a guest to write me a review. I assure you, they were read and your comments were duly noted.**

**On a personal note, thank you to everyone that sympathised and empathised with the loss of my dog. I appreciate your support more than you know.**

**And now, on to Chapter 34...**

Rachel stared at the screen before her, absentmindedly taking in the route. The flight was cruising somewhere high above Ukraine, and the only sound reaching the brunette's ears came courtesy her own breathing thanks to the noise-canceling headphones that were resting atop her head. Lost in her own thoughts, the brunette jumped in her seat when someone rested a hand on her left forearm.

Turning, she met Shelby's apologetic gaze. "Sorry," the coach smiled wryly when Rachel had pulled her headphones off, "I didn't mean to scare you. I saw you weren't watching anything and thought we could use the time to go over your last match?"

Rachel nodded. She normally looked forward to what she secretly referred to as the 'match debrief' in her head because there was always something to learn from it. Shelby had made it a practice to examine her charge's on-court performances from the very beginning, irrespective of whether the teenager had won or lost. If Rachel won the match then she and Shelby would assess her winning performance before she met her next opponent; if she lost, Shelby would wait for an appropriate moment to discuss her play. Like right now, in the first-class cabin of a Turkish Airlines Boeing 737 flight from Moscow to Istanbul. The assessment usually only took about a quarter of an hour. Rachel would be lying if she said she wasn't dreading this one.

Shelby opened a notebook that Rachel was very familiar with. The leather bound journal had traveled the world with the coach and her protégé, a fact that was further highlighted when Shelby stopped sifting through the pages quite close to the end. Rachel found herself wondering if the former player would begin a new one for the 2013 season.

"Right," Shelby said, clicking the pen before looking up at Rachel. The teenager was expecting the first question, "First things first, how were you feeling on court, physically?"

"Good," Rachel replied. "My Achilles didn't bother me, which was a relief." The brunette had strained the tendon when doing sprints from the baseline to the net in training before her second round match at the Kremlin Cup, which had compromised her movement in that encounter. It was therefore ironic that it hadn't bothered her one bit in the match that she ended up losing.

"Not even any tenderness?," Shelby pressed, earning a shake of the head from the younger brunette. "Ok, good. Remember, we're going to revisit the possibility of bringing on a fulltime physiotherapist at the end of this season," she added, jotting something down on the piece of paper. "Right, so no strains, no issues with fatigue or breathing? No headache?" Once again, Rachel shook her head.

The two women stopped when an airhostess came by with their drinks. Rachel thanked the woman, reaching for the sparkling water as soon as it was placed before her. The airhostess once again confirmed that no, they would not like any meals, before leaving them alone. Rachel didn't see the point in eating on the flight that was scheduled to take just over two hours when she'd already had a rather hearty breakfast before leaving the hotel four hours ago. From the looks of it, Shelby was thinking along the same lines.

"Ok. From where I was looking your movement seemed a little bit sluggish during certain parts of the match. I mean, there were times when I thought you weren't reacting as quickly as you normally do, and as you know, those split seconds can make a world of a difference at the level you're playing at," Shelby said, her eyes on her notes before her. She looked up at the end of her last sentence, "So I thought it had to be one of two things; either you were having some sort of problem, physically, which you have already said was not the case. Or the problem was mental. Which we will get back to in a bit."

Rachel nodded, an uneasy feeling swirling around in the pit of her stomach. To make matters worse, the sparkling water wasn't helping with her suddenly dry throat.

"Now to your shot making," Shelby said, referring to the checklist they always went through during these debriefs. "Your serves looked good in their execution. You were hitting them well, but I think you could have mixed them up better. Again, that goes down to your psychology on the day, and how well you were reading the match. You're usually very good at being able to tell which serves get the better of your opponents, so I was surprised to see you persist with sending the kick serve out wide to the ad court when Quinn was seeing that particular serve so well. You won 57% of your points on your first serve, and 43% on your second serve. That's one of the worst days you've had in a while."

Rachel's heart had leapt at Quinn's name, and to be honest, she'd missed most of what Shelby said after that. Hearing the silence, she looked up to meet her coach's expectant gaze and deduced that this must be where she was meant to say something. Trying to appear as calm as possible, Rachel said, "Yeah, in hindsight I realized I should have used the flat serve to her backhand more in the deuce court, and probably should have sent down more topspin serves too. I did try to mix it up more in the second half of the second set, but she was already up a break of serve by then."

"And you weren't able to break her. Which is, you know, understandable since she actually had a _great_ night serving. I mean, an 87% of first serves landed is phenomenal. But," Shelby said, looking her dead in the eye, "I was concerned that you only managed to get one breakpoint opportunity in the whole match. I know I say this over and over again, but you must always find a way to at least go deep into your opponent's service games. That's how you plant those tiny seeds of doubt that can play such a crucial part in tiebreakers."

Rachel didn't see what she could add to that, so she chose to remain silent. Shelby gave her a strange look, and then did something completely unexpected. She shut the book, clicked the pen and gave Rachel her undivided attention. "It's the same drill with everything else; your forehands were hit well, but to bad spots. You were hitting balls down the line when you should have been going crosscourt. You chose to slice the ball when your backhand could have opened up the court and set up a winner on the next shot. It's all textbook stuff, Rach. And I don't think I need to reiterate the same things over and over again over the next ten minutes. Especially not to the current US Open champion. So, let's get into the psychology of the match. Were you just not there, or was it a lack of focus?"

Rachel felt distinctly like a deer in headlights. She made to reach for her drink again, if only to give herself a few extra seconds to think, but was stopped in her tracks by Shelby's voice. "The drink can wait Rachel. I'll even ask them to bring you another one when you're done leveling with me." God, how did Shelby know her so well?

Rachel allowed all of her eighteen years of age to show when she let out a slight huff before sitting back in her seat. She took a deep breath before meeting Shelby's patient expression. "I was distracted, and couldn't focus."

"Well, that's a better answer than 'I temporarily forgot how to play tennis'," Shelby joked, obviously attempting to put the youngster at ease. "Distraction and a lack of focus I can work with. What were you distracted by?"

The younger brunette bit the inside of her cheek. The thought of telling her coach that she was distracted by romantic feelings, for her opponent no less, was pretty embarrassing. At the same time, she owed it to the woman that put so much time and effort into her game to be honest.

Her hesitancy must have shown on her features, because Shelby broke the silence again. "Look, I know you've had a big week, what with the media adding it's own spin to your pre-tournament statements. And I know you're close to Brittany and Santana, so the whole paparazzi-circus that's shadowed their every move this week would have been hard to completely ignore. Was your lack of focus maybe related to those things?"

"In part," Rachel conceded, before deciding to just go for it. "I've been distracted by some off-court stuff this week, but it wasn't all media related. I mean, the press did have a hand to play it in, but a lot of it has been my doing."

Shelby blinked. "Uh, do I look as confused as I feel? Because I have no idea what you're saying."

The teenager puffed out her cheeks, then let out the air in a whoosh before biting the bullet, "The media asking me about my dating life made me _think_ about my dating life, and I realized that I do have feelings for someone. And now I'm distracted by the thought of them." Rachel wasn't quite ready to be gender-specific with her coach. Or share how it was even harder to concentrate when the object of your desire was on the other side of the court from you.

"Ah," Shelby said, seeming to be genuinely surprised by the declaration and, for once, out of her depth. "Well, that's a problem I haven't encountered in my coaching career so far," she said.

Rachel felt panic bubbling up in her chest. What was she going to do if Shelby couldn't help her? How was she ever going to win another top-level match while she worked past this, this _crush_?

"But," Shelby added, letting in a ray of hope, "this is where I turn to my own playing past." The coach laughed out loud at the look of astonishment on her young charge's face. "What? You didn't think I played almost two decades of tennis without someone catching my eye, did you?! God, I even got engaged to Dustin Goolsby two weeks after we both won the Australian Open in '86!"

Now that she mentioned it Rachel _did_ recall reading about her coach's brief engagement to tennis' infamous playboy, who only recently had gotten married for the fifth time. The New Yorker felt her mood lighten at her coach's admission, and she said, "Mmm, yeah, I do know about that. Of course, I'm not 100% certain about the details since that was six years before I was born..."

"Yeah yeah, I was once eighteen too, Berry. And if you're lucky, you will one day get to forty-six," Shelby smiled. Rachel conceded the point with a bob of her head. "Back to the matter at hand, yes, normal day-to-day things can be a distraction on court sometimes. Especially feelings. Let's use my whirlwind romance with Dustin as an example. We only met a few weeks before the Slam, at the party of a sponsor we both represented at the time. Three weeks later we were both champions of Australia, and embarked on a pretty passionate affair the night of the end-of-tournament party. I'll spare you the details," she threw in cheekily when Rachel made a face. "He proposed two weeks later, and naïve little me was convinced we were meant to be together. Three months in, I realized he was cheating on me while he was away playing on the ATP tour, and thankfully even back then I had enough self-respect to call it off."

Now it was Shelby who took a sip of her wine, the faraway look in her eyes telling Rachel she was lost in a time long ago. The younger woman waited a few seconds, before gently prodding, "Did the relationship affect your game?"

Shelby took another sip of the red drink, then placed her glass back down. She nodded her head, "Yes, but more so the end of the relationship than the actual relationship. You see, I was actually in a very happy place while we were together. And somehow that led to distraction free tennis when I was on the court competing. I honestly played some of the best tennis of my life in those first few months of '86." She paused, as if to collect her thoughts, then went on, "I found out he was cheating through the press. And if there's one thing that hasn't changed in the last two decades it's how bloodthirsty the media is. They brought Dustin up in every press conference I had for the next two months, which made his betrayal even harder to get over. And again, my state of mind showed in my results. I began losing to opponents ranked outside of the top hundred, and squandered away big leads to lose matches I was mere points away from winning. There was a point where I was seriously worried I was never going to find my best tennis again."

Her final words hit very close to home to Rachel's current fears. She swallowed, then asked, "So what did you do?"

A ghost of a smile played on Shelby's lips, "I took my coach's advice." This drew a roll of the eyes from Rachel, which led to Shelby barking out another laugh. "I kid you not! My coach Carmen Tibideaux, yes, _the_ Carmen Tibideaux, sat me down one day and gave me a talking to."

"Wait," Rachel said, lifting a hand. "How did I not know you'd been coached by _the_ Carmen Tibideaux?"

"You never asked," Shelby shrugged. "Now, would you rather I not tell you how to get your focus back and tell you about Carmen instead?"

Sufficiently chastised, Rachel shook her head. "No, I'd really appreciate your guidance. But, maybe you could tell me about La Tibideaux later?"

"Deal," Shelby agreed with a smile. "So, where was I? Ah yes, Carmen cancelled the practice hit we had scheduled for the day, and instead sat down across me, cross-legged on the Grandstand Court at Flushing Meadows. You know, that was always one of my favourite courts to play on, and looking back I think the old crone picked it on purpose." Shelby had a fond look on her features as she reminisced.

"Anyway, I digress. So there we were, Carmen and I, alone in the middle of this massive stadium. And she told me she understood what I was going through. Which, of course, I didn't believe. I mean, no one understands your pain, right?," she said, her tone self-deprecating. "Carman was patient with me though, and heard me out. I probably went on for a bit, and I'll admit, there were even a few tears. When I was done she said she could help me get my game back, but only if I was willing to do exactly as she directed." Here Shelby paused.

Without realizing it Rachel had moved closer to her coaches seat, and was hanging on her every word. "What did she want you to do?"

"Go back to the basics," Shelby whispered, as if it was a secret.

Rachel sat back a little and regarded her coach with skepticism. Really? That's what La Tibideaux said? Again, Shelby read her like an open book. "It's true. She told me the only way I would be able to tune out the rest of the world and play my best tennis again was by following the rules we're taught when we're just starting out."

"Play each ball the way it wants to be played," Rachel said, repeating the words Shelby kept reiterating in practice.

"Exactly," Shelby said, her expression and tone victorious. "Forget everything else except that little yellowish-green ball coming at you. Forget who's watching you and who isn't, and what is happening outside of the rectangle you're playing on. Look at the ball, and only think about the most effective way to send it back to the other side of the court. And repeat. Carmen said I needed to play the match one point at a time."

Rachel sat there, quietly thinking about what the other woman was saying. In theory, it made perfect sense. Finally, she spoke, "Did it work for you?"

"Not immediately," Shelby admitted. "More so because I found myself thinking of other things every so often in the middle of a game, and every single time the drop in my level was instantaneous. But I got better at just focusing on the task at hand, and about a month later I had found my A-game again. In fact, I got so good at playing the match one point at a time that once I even began to move to the other side of the court to get into position to receive serve when I'd actually just won match point. I'd tuned the chair umpire out, and only realized what was happening when the crowd rose to their feet to applaud and I looked up to see my opponent waiting at the net!"

The two women shared a quiet laugh. "Hmm, well, it's worth a shot," Rachel conceded.

"It _will_ work as long as you're able to focus on the tennis being played," Shelby assured her, lifting the leather journal from her lap and placing it in the bag at her feet. "In fact, if you do it right you won't even be distracted if the object of your affection is on the other side of the net from you. That's what Carmen told me."

Rachel almost got whiplash from the speed with which she turned her head to look at her coach, who's own head was bent as she zipped up her bag. Did Shelby know more than she was letting on?

The older brunette slid the bag under her seat and turned to look at the New Yorker. "I'm gonna run to the restroom. Want me to ask them to bring you another drink?" she asked, glancing at Rachel's almost empty glass.

"Yes, please," Rachel said.

She watched her coach rise and make her way to the front of the aisle before turning her gaze to the window beside her and pondering Shelby's advice. Could it really be that simple? At this point it seemed to be the only option Rachel had, and the brunette sure as hell was going to try it the next time she was on court.

To be fair, her lapses in concentration hadn't been too bad when she'd played Sunshine Corazon in the second round. Yes, there had been a few moments when her mind had wandered and her form had dipped, but she'd thwarted any comeback attempts by the Filipino before they really took root. On the other hand, her quarterfinal matchup against Quinn was a disaster from the start. Which probably had a lot to do with Rachel's newfound inability to be in the same room as the blonde without having a mild freak out.

In the three-and-a-half days since Rachel had realized she had feelings for her fellow American, the brunette had done her best to spend as little time as possible with Quinn. She had turned down the World No.2's invitation to come explore the gorgeous Saint Basil's Cathedral along with her and Brittany, pretending that she wanted to nurse a headache before her night match against Sunshine. Then she'd skipped the early breakfast in Santana's suite by conveniently booking the tournament masseuse for the earliest available massage appointment the next morning. For the sake of appearances, she'd popped into the suite to say hello before hightailing it out of there.

That meant that the only time she'd really spent with Quinn had been on the tennis court. And, from the brunette's point of view, her performance couldn't have been worse. Rachel found herself drinking in the sight of the blonde as she waited for her to serve, leading to delayed reactions to the actual serves. When it was Rachel's turn to start play, she often spent those seconds running her gaze over Quinn's form instead of looking at where to land her serves. Somehow she was able to pick out single beads of sweat on Quinn's body and was left parched at the thought of how salty the blonde's skin would have tasted at that moment. When they crossed one another at the net Rachel inhaled like a man who had been deprived of oxygen for too long. The scent of strawberries mixed with sweat lingered in her nostrils as she waited out the changeover. Tennis tactics truly were the last thing on her mind.

When Emma had rung her after the 6-1, 6-2 loss to ask if she was interested in proceeding to Istanbul ahead of the earlier planned schedule to train with Marley, who had been upset in the first round in Moscow, and Jake Jacob, she'd jumped at the chance to put some distance between herself and Quinn. After all, that was the best way to get past these feelings, right?

The brunette had felt guilty when she'd waited till later at night to inform Quinn, Santana and Brittany about her impending departure. She'd only told Brittany in person, popping her head into her old friend's room to give her the news when the Englishwoman was already tucked into bed. Rachel had been playing the avoidance game with her too, batting away questions about her press conference that, as expected, had gotten its fifteen seconds of fame in the press. The American hoped Brittany had believed her when she said she'd gotten caught up in the moment while defending her friends. And she knew she'd have to get better at repeating those words in a more convincing manner by the time Brittany came to New York for the exhibition match and auction next month.

Once again, Rachel found herself wondering if following Shelby's advice would pay off on court. Rachel might not have forgotten how to defeat other players, but she knew she would have to regularly battle her way past Quinn if she was to continue to be a top player herself. And despite Rachel's newly discovered crush on the blonde, her desire to be a tennis champion hadn't diminished one bit.

Hearing a sound beside her, Rachel turned to see Shelby retake her seat. The coach buckled herself in again then turned to her charge. "So, how about I tell you about how I came to be coached by La Tibideaux?" she smiled.


	35. Chapter 35

**Hi everybody :) I know I'm beginning to repeat myself, but sorry for taking so long to update this story. I realise that tomorrow will be a month since my last update, and I really will try to have the next chapter up sooner. **

**While life has been busy, you can blame the Australian Open for part of the delay. There were some great matches and the women's final was the best I've seen in recent memory. Kudos to Kerber for her biggest win ever. Let's hope she can sustain the level she played at in Melbourne. God knows it'll be nice to see Serena have some actual competition. If anything, I think it'll only make her raise her level even more (a scary thought, I know!)**

**As always, thank you to everyone who has written me a review. A special thank you to everyone that wrote in as a Guest. I can't thank you in a message, so allow me to do so on here. Also, thank you to everyone that has followed/favourited myself or this story. I can't believe A Perfect Match is now at 351 follows. Wow. **

**I'd like to wish everyone a Happy Valentin****e's Day. Good luck to those of you that are looking for love, and congratulations to those of you who are in happy relationships. Remember, don't let a good thing slip through your fingers! **

**And now, onwards and upwards to the update! Enjoy! **

After a few months of annual travel on the junior circuit and almost a full year of playing on the women's tour, Rachel considered herself to be a bit of a connoisseur of hotels. In the space of a few years she'd lived in basic guesthouses, practical lodges and utterly glamourous seven-star hotels, the accommodation getting more luxurious as her ranking and profile rose. Which is why the fact that she was overcome with awe as she took in the magnificent Ciragan Palace spoke volumes about the splendor of the former Ottoman palace.

"Stunning, isn't it?" Kurt commented, climbing out of the limousine and coming to a stop beside the brunette, whose eyes were fixed on the exquisitely carved marble pillars before her as she nodded her agreement. "It's even prettier on the inside," the Adidas rep commented, beginning to head inside.

"I find that hard to believe," Rachel said, matching his stride. The pair walked through the large doors, only for Rachel to come to another abrupt halt. "And I stand corrected," she added, drawing a laugh from her companion.

A woman approached the tennis player, followed by what appeared to be an employee of the hotel. Rachel thought the blonde seemed vaguely familiar, and she knew why when the woman reached out her hand with a "Ms. Berry! I'm Terri De Monico, with the WTA. We've met before, in London."

"Yes, I remember," Rachel smiled politely, shaking the woman's hand.

"Kurt," Terri said, nodding at the man that stood beside the US Open champion.

"Terri," Kurt acknowledged with an amiable nod of his head. He turned to Rachel, "I need to shoot off to make sure everything is organized for you, Fleur, Lily and Santana. I'll see you in hair and makeup." And with that, he dashed off.

Rachel waited a moment for Terri to introduce the hotel employee who was standing half a step behind the WTA rep and when no introduction seemed forthcoming the New Yorker put her own hand forth, "Hi, I'm Rachel."

"It's a pleasure to welcome you to the Ciragan Palace Kempinski, Ms. Berry," the dark-haired man smiled, showing off pearly white teeth. "I'm Khalid Oguzbas, the assistant manager."

Rachel felt a wave of impatience coming off Terri as she exchanged pleasantries with the man, and sure enough the woman spoke up as soon as the tanned-skinned man was done speaking. "The players are to meet in the Oriflame Style Suite at twelve pm to begin getting ready for the draw ceremony, which will begin at exactly seven pm. Please do not be late to either. I should also inform you that a camera crew will be present throughout the day, except for when you're changing of course." The blonde woman's gaze alternated between Rachel and the hotel's large double doors as she spoke, keeping an obvious eye out for anyone else that was expected.

"We have organized a suite for you for your stay, if you would like to go there while you wait. Your bags have already taken there, and I would be happy to show you the way. Or you are most welcome to wander around the hotel first. The Ciragan Palace Kempinski has quite the collection of artwork for those with an appreciative eye to admire," Khalid threw in. Rachel thought the WTA would have done better to just have him greet the players instead of Terri who, from the look of things, lacked basic decorum.

"I'd love to look around the hotel for a bit, if that's alright. But I will take my room key, in case I stop there before reporting for duty," Rachel said, addressing the hotel employee with a smile.

The New Yorker wandered around the hotel and its grounds for a good hour or so, stopping to sign the occasional autograph or smile for a selfie, before deciding to check her suite in the thirty minutes she had to herself before she needed to go to hair and makeup. She took a few moments to appreciate the opulence of the suite she had been given, leisurely walking around the one bedroom unit and snapping a few pictures of the view of the Bosphorus Strait to send to her fathers. Turning around her eyes landed on the king-sized bed that, although the same size as the bed she'd slept on at the Grand Hyatt over the past few nights, looked more inviting than any other bed she'd seen in the recent past. As if on autopilot, Rachel walked to the bed and lay down flat on her back right in the middle, letting out a soft moan as she closed her eyes and let the silence envelop her.

The teenager willed her mind to stay blank and tried to focus on the way her body sank into the mattress around her. It worked for about thirty seconds, before her mind wandered to its new favourite topic – Quinn Fabray.

With a resigned sigh, Rachel opened her eyes to stare at the canopy above her head. It was like the blonde had wedged herself into Rachel's very subconscious so that the brunette spent every free moment wondering what the other woman was doing. Or what her opinion would be on anything and everything _Rachel_ was doing, thinking about, looking at, eating, laughing at. Hell, every song Rachel heard somehow reminded her of the hazel-eyed tennis star. The Rachel that used to laugh at her friends who obsessed over their crushes was a little bit disgusted at the person she'd become. And still, she felt giddy when she pictured her hazel-eyed friend, or played the sound of her quiet laugh in her head. Or when Quinn sent her the random text messages she had gotten so used to receiving every day. Rachel tried not to obsess over whether Quinn thought her own random ramblings were as adorable.

Tilting her head, Rachel scanned the room for a remote control and, sure enough, found a few placed on the bedside table next to her bed. After a little more stretching than she had anticipated Rachel, now located more towards the right side of the mattress, pointed the television remote at the giant flat-screen TV mounted on the wall across the bed. It took her a few seconds to find TRT Spor where she was greeted by the sight of Quinn and Santana standing side by side, smiling as the light from camera flashes bounced off their skin. Each woman was displaying a piece of silverware, and it was plain to see that the blonde's cup-shaped prize was more eye-catching than the Latina's silver dish.

The camera cut to a mid-shot of the two women just as Santana gave her vanquisher a sporting pat on the back before stepping away, allowing Quinn her moment in the spotlight. The angle changed to a close-up of the American's face. Her hair was out of place and damp from perspiration, and her cheeks were flushed from the effort of playing the match. Rachel thought she looked beautiful.

While Rachel had avoided Quinn in Moscow, she did the exact opposite upon reaching Istanbul. Not wanting her behaviour to seem odd she had kept in touch with the higher-ranked player through regular text messages, a routine that the pair had somehow established over the last few months. The brunette also watched every match Quinn had played en route to the final against Santana; she had Googled the interviews the blonde had given over the course of the tournament, and watched her post-match press conferences on the Kremlin Cup website. At one point she had justified her borderline stalking by telling herself that if she found something not to like about Quinn, this crush would go away. Many hours of Internet browsing and back-and-forth text sessions later her feelings were nowhere near diminished. And Rachel refused to admit, even to herself, that to the contrary they had gotten stronger.

The footage cut away to the studio where two men began to speak in Turkish, so Rachel turned the television off. Realizing she had less than ten minutes to get to the Bosphorus function room, she began to make her way to the second floor.

Rachel was waiting for the elevator on her floor when she heard soft footsteps behind her and turned to see Fleur Delacour approaching her. "Salut, Rachel," the tall blonde smiled.

"Bon jour, Fleur," Rachel smiled back. "Comment ca va?"

Fleur's smile could now light up the hallway on its own. "Ca va tres bien. Et tu?"

"Tres bien, merci," the brunette smiled up at her companion, just as the elevator dinged. "Saved by the bell, literally," she laughed, walking into the elevator, "that was the extent of my knowledge of French!"

The Frenchwoman joined in her laughter as she followed her into the elevator, "Well, I am very 'appy you made ze effort to speak wiz me in my native tongue. I appreciate eet."

"Well, you speak to me in my native tongue all the time, so it's the least I could do. Maybe one day I'll be able to speak your native tongue as well as you speak mine," Rachel said.

Fleur let out a chuckle, "Ah, you sound like Fabray."

"I do?" Rachel asked, her ears pricking up at the mention of the other woman's name. "How?"

The elevator came to a stop and the two women walked out side by side. "Quinn 'as been practicing 'er Francais for a few years now. She 'as vowed zat she will give 'er speech een Francais when she wins Roland Garros. I 'elp 'er when she asks, and each year I tease 'er zat she ees not winning on purpose because 'er Francais ees not, 'ow you put eet, up to ze mark." Fleur looked at Rachel for confirmation that she had phrased that correctly and received a nod from the brunette before the two players shared a chuckle. "I know zat ees not the case zough," the Frenchwoman said, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "By zis point, Quinn speaks Francais like a Fabray oo 'as never left Paris."

The pair reached the double doors of the function room, and Fleur held the door open to allow her companion to walk through. "Thank you," Rachel said as she passed the taller woman.

"Je t'en prie," Fluer smiled, following her in. "Remember, ze offer to teach you Francais will be zere eef you ever decide to take eet up. Eet ees sometimes nice to 'ave somezing ozzer zan tennis to zink about on ze road." The two shared an understanding look before they were swept into the madness that was the Oriflame Style Suite.

For the next four hours Rachel and Fleur joined Marley Rose, Kitty Wilde, Asami Sato, Lorna Morello, Piper Chapman and Lily Chan in what the brunette could only describe as one long pampering session. Hair and makeup teams fussed over the eight women and every-so-often Rachel would stop to look around in wonderment at how a group of the world's finest female tennis players had been reduced to a gaggle of giggling girls. Court rivalries were forgotten as they oohed at each other's nails, smiled for group selfies with curlers in their hair and even fed one another when someone's hands were preoccupied with a manicure. Despite the presence of several cameras in the room, Rachel knew this camaraderie was not for show. This was merely a bunch of girls being girls.

Rachel was so caught up in the enjoyment of it all that she was almost shocked when Quinn and Santana walked in the door. Glancing at her wristwatch she saw that it was four-thirty. Looking back up at the mirror she saw Quinn's gaze trained on her reflection, and the blonde smiled when they locked eyes. The teenager had just returned the smile when Blaine Anderson approached the blonde and diverted her attention. Rachel felt disappointment fill her chest, only for the feeling to completely dissipate when moments later the blonde sat down in the makeshift hair and makeup station that had been set up next to her own.

"Quinn," she exclaimed, turning to face the blonde and ignoring the annoyed huff her quick movement earned from the poor woman that was attempting to straighten her hair. The woman not-too-subtly moved Rachel's face to face forwards again so the brunette had to resort to talking to Quinn's reflection instead. Her heart leapt at the fond smile on the other woman's face.

"Hi Rachel," Quinn husked, sitting still while a man behind her covered her in a cutting cape.

"Congratulations on your win," the brunette smiled. "What are you now, fifty points behind Santana?"

"Sixty-three, Berry. Get your math right," Santana's voice called out, earning Rachel another huff from her stylist when she craned her neck to see where the Spaniard was. She spotted her sitting in front of a mirror, four stations away.

Rachel rolled her eyes at the Latina before her head was physically straightened to look forward again. "Hello to you too, Santana," Rachel called out as she shared a smile with Quinn in the mirror again. Her brow creased a second later. "How do you already have your makeup done?"

Quinn thanked someone that had brought her a drink on a silver tray before meeting Rachel's gaze again. "We had a couple of makeup artists on the plane with us," she said by way of explanation, obviously referring to the private plane Rachel knew the WTA had organized for the Kremlin Cup finalists to get them to Istanbul on time for today's events. Rachel quickly averted her gaze when the blonde brought the glass in her hand closer to her face and wrapped lips covered in baby pink lipstick around the straw jutting out of it. She thanked the stars above for the artificial blush on her cheeks that currently felt warmer than usual.

Looking back at the mirror before her, she noticed Kurt talking to Fleur before one his assistants escorted the Frenchwoman from the room. Moments later, he was standing behind her. "Wow," Kurt breathed out, his eyes wide as he took in the sight of the brunette. "You look great, and you aren't even really ready yet."

For the second time in mere minutes, Rachel felt her cheeks heat up. Kurt turned to the hairstylist, "Do you have an ETA on how much longer you'll be?"

"I'd say another ten minutes love," the lady replied in a thick Swedish accent. "_If_ she stops moving her head around so much," she added, throwing Rachel a mock glare. The teenager had the grace to mouth a 'sorry' at the woman, who just rolled her eyes and grabbed another bunch of brunette locks to straighten.

"So, you want me to straighten your hair and then just _tie_ _it up_ in a high pony?" the man working on Quinn's hair asked, his incredulous tone drawing Rachel's attention. This time she remembered to move her eyes and not her whole head, watching the interaction between the two in her mirror.

"Yes please," Quinn nodded, looking up at the hairstylist in her own mirror.

The man just stared back, clearly not happy with what was being asked of him, but Rachel wasn't able to watch what happened next because Kurt addressed her again. "Rach, either myself or one of my assistants will escort you to get changed into your dress when you're done here. We'd like to get a few pictures of you when you're all dolled up, and I think Oriflame wants to take some too. So please let me know when you're ready."

"Will do, Kurt," Rachel said. The Adidas rep squeezed her shoulder before walking away in Santana's direction.

The brunette turned her gaze to Quinn again and couldn't help but smirk when she saw the Oriflame employee dutifully straightening the World No. 2's hair. Quinn must have sensed her stare because she looked up from her phone to smile at the brunette. "How've you been?," the blonde asked.

"Good," Rachel smiled. "Busy really, between hitting at the Sinan Erdem Dome and then training on clay with the Fed Cup crew."

"And playing tourist," Quinn threw in with a kind smile. Rachel knew she was referring to the flurry of Instagram images and tweets the New Yorker had uploaded after visiting the Hagia Sophia, the Sultan Ahmed Mosque, the Archeology Museum and the Grand Bazaar.

"Hey, I can't help it if there's so much to see and such little time," Rachel defended through a laugh.

"You do realize that Istanbul's hosting the tournament next year too, right? You don't _have_ to see everything in one week," Quinn retorted, averting her gaze to quickly take in the changes to her own hair before looking back at Rachel, who was flattered by the blonde's faith in her ability to make the cut for what was widely considered to be the 'Fifth Slam' two years in a row.

"I'll try to remember that," Rachel grinned.

"Did you buy a lot at the Bazaar?" Quinn asked. "Last year I bought practically everyone I know mosaic lanterns for Christmas. And I got myself a few as well. I had to have them shipped back to Miami separately."

"Oh my God, I know!" Rachel exclaimed. "I bought a few too, and a few ceramic bowls. They're stunning. How did you organize for the lanterns to be shipped back?"

"Just talk to Khalid. He's one of the assistant managers here. He sorted out everything, including having them properly packed so they wouldn't break en route to America," Quinn said.

"Oh yeah, I think met him earlier. Khalid Oz... Oz, something?" Rachel asked, her brow creasing as she tried to recall the man's last name.

"Oguzbas?" Quinn prompted.

"Yes, him!" Rachel responded.

The blonde nodded, "That's him. He's extremely helpful, so just check with him if you want to have anything shipped home."

"Noted," Rachel said. "What about you? Is there anything you plan to see here this week?"

"Well, I did most of the touristy stuff here last year but I do want to go back to the Bazaar for a browse. And I was hoping to go check out a photography exhibition at the Modern Art Museum. I was actually wondering if you wanted to come with, if you're free?" Quinn asked.

The hopeful expression on the blonde's face warmed Rachel's heart. The brunette guessed Quinn didn't often have company when she went to things like exhibitions while on tour. God knows Santana didn't seem the type to spend hours exploring a gallery or museum. "It depends on when you plan to go but yes, I'd gladly accompany you if I can. Can we wait till the draw is out before we make any concrete plans?"

Quinn's eyes shone as she nodded, "Yeah, of course. Hopefully we're in the same half of the draw. That way we'd have the same days off, at least at the start."

Rachel nodded, quietly thinking it would also mean she would know sooner rather than later if she'd managed to get her focus levels up to a point where she could be competitive against Quinn. "So, what's the exhibition about anyway?"

"It's a portrait exhibition-" Quinn began, but cut herself short when Rachel's hairstylist rested her hands on the brunette's shoulders.

"Sorry to interrupt girls, but you're all done," the woman said, undoing the Velcro strap around the brunette's neck that kept the cutting cape in place.

Rachel blinked as she looked at herself. Even the modest teenager had to admit that the hair and makeup people had done a fantastic job on her. The Oriflame team had given her smokey eyes, rouge that further accentuated her high cheekbones and a nearly nude shade of lipstick, and her hairstylist had complimented the makeup by straightening her hair and sweeping her forehead-long bangs to one side. The young American could hardly believe she was looking at herself.

Beside her Quinn cleared her throat but still sounded huskier than usual when she spoke. "You're going to have to beat them off with a stick, Berry."

Rachel ducked her head at the compliment before turning to the hairstylist. "Thank you," she spoke, her words heartfelt.

"Anytime, love," the older woman nodded in the midst of packing away her equipment. "I'll be around to keep checking on you as we go tonight, but don't hesitate to catch my eye if you need anything done or fixed."

Rachel thanked her again then addressed Quinn, "I should go get changed."

Rachel thought Quinn might have bobbed her head up and down if the hairstylist's tongs weren't busy working their magic on her shoulder-blade length blonde locks. "I'll see you when you get back," Quinn said.

The brunette nodded and rose, her eyes scanning the room for Kurt. She spotted him engrossed in a conversation with Blaine in one corner of the room and made her way to the pair.

"Rachel," Kurt exclaimed, noticing the brunette when she was mere feet from him. "I know I'm beginning to sound repetitive, but wow!"

The teenager smiled at him, then turned her attention to the curly haired man standing beside him. "Hi Blaine."

"Hi Rachel. It's good to see you again. Congratulations on winning the US Open," Blaine smiled.

A thrill ran down Rachel's back at the reminder of her biggest win till date. She still couldn't quite believe it all these weeks after winning the title. "Thank you," she replied.

"Are you ready to get dressed?" Kurt asked. When Rachel nodded, the Adidas rep excused the two of them and led the brunette out of the function room and up to a multi-room suite his company had booked on the top floor of the Ciragan Palace.

Upon entering the suite, the duo was met by the sight of Fleur twirling around in front of Kurt's assistants in the middle of the small living room. She was dressed in a short ruffled white dress that was cinched at the waist by a black leather belt. The Frenchwoman looked up at them as they entered, her wavy blonde hair settling around her shoulders when she stopped moving in the Mary Janes that buckled close at the bottom of her ankles. " 'ow do I look?" she asked with a smile.

"Gorgeous," Kurt breathed out, and beside him Rachel fervently nodded her agreement.

Fleur looked more bashful than she had a moment ago. "Merci," she said, reaching for a camel coloured blazer that hung on the back of the armchair beside her. An assistant stepped up to her as soon as she slipped into the jacket and set to work rolling up the sleeves, which were then pushed up to her elbows. The ensemble was more casual than what Rachel planned to wear that evening, but the brunette thought it looked fashionably chic in an enviably effortless kind of way.

Another assistant was just approaching Fleur with what seemed to be, and smelled like, a tray full of perfumes when Kurt asked Rachel to follow him. "See you downstairs, Fleur," Rachel called out as she was led to a room where her black Stella McCartney knit dress was hung up on a clothes rack. The teenager had picked the dress from a selection of pictures Kurt had emailed her while she was in Moscow, and seeing it in person confirmed to Rachel that she had made the right choice.

Slipping into the knee-length, long sleeved dress was easier said than done though, and the sheer polka dot panel on the left sleeve made things even more difficult. Rachel lost track of the number of times she worried she had ripped the delicate material, despite having two assistants there to help her carefully glide the material over her arm. The teenager was most relieved when she was finally zipped up, and tried not to think about the ordeal that was sure to follow when she tried to undress herself later that night. To be honest, all her worries went flying out the window when she was handed a pair of black leather Christian Louboutin stilettos, the red soles adding pizzazz to her monochrome ensemble.

Kurt was alone in the living room when Rachel exited the bedroom. He looked up at the young champion when she emerged, his slack jaw providing Rachel with quite the ego boost. "It's times like this that affirm just how gay I am. I mean if you, looking the way you do right now, cannot turn me then nothing can."

The door to another bedroom in the suite opened before Rachel could respond to his statement and both she and Kurt turned to see Santana emerge from behind the previously closed door. The Latina was in the midst of putting on an earring but stopped to let out a wolf whistle when she saw Rachel, who in turn was busy admiring how good the Spaniard looked in a black lace pencil-legged tuxedo and closed heels. "You're definitely going to break some hearts tonight, Berry," Santana said, running an unabashedly appreciative gaze over the shorter brunette.

"And I'm going to have to stand guard near you all evening, or Brittany will kill me," Rachel threw back, earning a laugh from Santana.

"Yup, definitely gay," Kurt muttered to himself, earning a strange look from the Latina.

"I'll explain later," Rachel said.

Santana nodded and finished putting the earring on as she walked further into the living room to stand beside Rachel. She passed Kurt her camera, "Hey, Lady Hummel. Take a picture of us, will you? I want to send it to my lady."

Kurt rolled his eyes but took the smart phone from the Spaniard. Santana moved closer to Rachel and the two women smiled for the camera. "Ok, now take a full length one so Brit-Brit can see all the hotness she's missing out on by not being here." The Latina slung an arm around the shorter brunette's shoulders as the second picture was taken.

"Why _isn't_ Brittany here?," Kurt asked, passing the phone back to it's owner.

"Because she wants to come to the WTA Championships only when she qualifies for them, which I can respect. My girl has ambitions! And maybe these pictures will offer the inspiration she needs to push herself to realize them," Santana said, her head bowed as she sent the pictures off to the Englishwoman.

"Such modesty does not become you, Santana," Rachel said drily, drawing a laugh from the other woman. The American turned to Kurt, "Earrings or no earrings?"

Kurt tilted her head, staring at her as he considered it, "I'd say no earrings. I think your watch it enough of an accessory."

"So be it," Rachel said, glad to not have one more thing to worry about. She looked at black Tissot the Adidas rep had just referred to and almost did a double take when she realized it was almost six pm. "I think I'm ready to head downstairs. You coming, Santana?"

"Hold on!" Kurt exclaimed before the Latina could reply. Turning to an assistant, he simply said, "Perfume!"

The elevator filled up with the scent of Rachel and Santana's selections as they made their way back downstairs. Santana had just finished lamenting how she already missed Brittany, whom she had last seen two days ago, when she said, "Oh, and before I forget, you need to come to Miami with us on the twenty-second of November."

"I do?" Rachel asked. "Why?"

"Because it's Quinn's birthday, and she doesn't want to throw a birthday party since the exhibition match and auction are on the twenty-fourth. So I plan to take the party to her," Santana shrugged. "But it's a secret, so keep those lips sealed."

"Won't Quinn already be in New York on the twenty-second?," Rachel probed, walking out of the elevator.

"No, she doesn't fly out to the Big Apple till the morning of the twenty-third. She wants to spend her birthday in Miami," the Latina replied from beside her.

"And you're sure she won't mind us just showing up?" Rachel questioned.

"No Berry, she won't," Santana said, her tone gaining an edge of exasperation. "It's not like I'm taking a bus full of partygoers to her house. It's just going to be you, me, Brit, Finn and Marley. Oh, and her mom and sister, who will already be there. Any more questions?"

"Yes actually," Rachel said, ignoring Santana's over exaggerated groan as they stopped outside the doors to the function room. "Do her mom and sister know we're going?"

"Christ! Yes! They do, ok! Do you not want to come?" the Spaniard asked.

Rachel stared at Santana for a moment, then smirked, "I would love to come. Thank you for the invitation." And with that, she turned on her heel and walked into the Bosphorus Room.

The room seemed to still the moment she and Santana walked through the doors as everyone near the front turned to look at the pair. Asami and Lorna, who were standing together closest to the doors, immediately approached the pair and the group spent the next couple of minutes oohing and aahing over each other's appearances. A camera crew swooped in to capture the interaction, asking the women which designer's wares they were sporting. Marley and Lily joined the quartet, which led to another round of gushing at clothes and accessories.

Kurt appeared at Rachel's arm and lowered his voice to speak into her ear, "When you're done, could you please head to the corner where the camera lights are set up to have some pictures taken?"

"Sure," Rachel replied, but it was still a few more minutes before she was able to excuse herself from the group that was now taking selfies together. The brunette looked around and was immediately able to spot the corner Kurt had been talking about. As she approached the makeshift camera studio she noticed Fleur and Quinn who, till that point, had been hidden by a large black cloth that was there to cut the light coming in and out of that particular section.

Realizing that she herself hadn't been spotted yet, Rachel slowed down and allowed herself the opportunity to appreciate Quinn from a distance. The blonde was wearing a black sleeveless jumpsuit with black peep-toe booties, her hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. The sight of the other woman sent currents through Rachel's veins and with striking clarity the brunette realized she was turned on.

Pulse racing, Rachel continued her slow gait towards the two blondes. The room felt smaller with her gaze fixed on one thing and one thing alone. The teenager could now see that the accessory hanging from a large silver chain around Quinn's neck was a heart with a keyhole in the middle. And that the red bracelet on Quinn's wrist was a double leather band of some sort. The colour scheme matched Rachel's own, and she was secretly thrilled that they had somehow managed to match each other without even realizing it.

Quinn and Fleur were so engrossed in their conversation that they still hadn't noticed Rachel. "Avez-vous choisi une date pour le mariage?," she heard Quinn ask when she got close enough to hear what the two women were saying. The brunette had no idea what was being discussed, but she was sue of one thing; Quinn speaking French was the sexiest thing she had ever seen or heard.

"Pas encore," Fleur said with a shake of her head. "Nous allons- Rachel! Vous regardez magnifique!" the Frenchwoman said, cutting the conversation short when she finally noticed Rachel's approach. "You look sensationnel! Beautiful!"

The teenager finally caught on to what Fleur was saying with the last word and smiled bashfully, "Merci, Fleur." She chanced a look at Quinn, and the stunned look on the World No.2's face brought forth a sense of courage Rachel didn't know she possessed. "Cat caught your tongue, Fabray?" Wait, was she meant to sound this flirtatious?

Fleur turned to see what Rachel was referring to and chuckled when she saw Quinn opening and closing her mouth like a fish out of water. The Frenchwoman used the index finger of her right hand to push Quinn's chin up, effectively closing her mouth. "Vous ne voulez pas attraper des mooches, Quinn," she laughed before walking away, gently bumping into Quinn's shoulder as she did.

The action seemed to jar Quinn back to the present, and the blonde blinked furiously even as her cheeks flushed red. "Rachel, you look...amazing," she breathed out.

"You don't look half bad yourself," Rachel replied. Yup, she definitely sounded like she was flirting.

Quinn seemed to stand taller at Rachel's words, and the two women smiled at one another. The brunette ran another appreciative gaze over Quinn's form now that she was within reaching distance, and she realized the blonde was watching her keenly when their gazes connected again moments later. "I know it's not as formal as what some of the other girls are wearing-", she began, but Rachel didn't let her finish her sentence.

"Oh, hush Quinn. You look great. Some might even say you look ridiculously hot," Rachel said, nervousness bubbling in her chest as soon as the words left her mouth.

Quinn took a small step forward, her face breaking out into a wide grin. ""Some", huh?"

Rachel shrugged one shoulder, being faux-nonchalant. "Yeah. You know, people with a working set of eyes." The two women stared at each other, then broke out into matching giggles.

A man with a camera around his neck popped his head out from behind a large diffuser that was mounted on a C-stand. "We're ready for you, Quinn," he said in an Irish accent, before catching sight of Rachel. "Oh hi, you're Rachel Berry. I'm Seamus. If you could wait a few minutes, we'll get to you right after we've taken Quinn's shots."

Rachel nodded even as she inwardly cursed the man for his timing. Why couldn't he be like Fleur and not interfere while she had a, a moment, with Quinn?

"I'll be one moment," Quinn said to the man, who nodded and walked away. The hazel-eyed woman turned back to Rachel. "Remember how I said earlier that you'll have to beat them off with sticks tonight?" Rachel nodded slowly, her undivided attention on the woman in front of her. "I was wrong. I don't think anything short of rabid guard dogs will do the trick."

With that Quinn winked and walked away, leaving a very flattered and flustered Rachel in her wake.


	36. Chapter 36

**Hello everyone! It's me! The woman that, despite my best intentions, is unable to update as quickly as I would like! That said, I come bearing a new chapter! But first, notes -**

**Thank you to everyone that has followed or favourited myself or this story. And I send gratitude to everyone that has sent me a review. On a website where people don't get paid to entertain, your kind words and constructive criticism is a most welcome return for hours spent typing away at a keyboard. A special mention to people who write in as guestsn. I am unable to send you a personal thank you, so I extend my thanks on here :)**

**A lot of you wrote in complimenting my description of how the women were dressed for the draw ceremony, so I should tell you that everything my characters wear is something you can actually google. If you look up what Azarenka and Sharapova wore to the actual draw ceremony in 2012 then you'll see what Quinn and Fleur are meant to look like. The suit Santana wore is something Naya has worn on the red carpet, and Rachel was in a Stella McCartney dress from her Fall 2011 collection. I tried to keep the descriptions as basic as possible because I personally don't enjoy stories where they go into too much detail of what the characters wore, but at the same time I want you to be able to visualise my work. Then again, if you have painted your own picture of what they look like in your heads then my mission is accomplished :)**

**I have not really proofread this new chapter, so all errors are my own. It would help me if you could point them out, just so I can correct them quickly! Else you'll just have to bear with them till I have the time to read this update later this week.**

**And now, go read the update! And tell me what you think!**

Rachel didn't really believe in astrology, or ever star sign's for that matter. The only exception to that was when she found herself wondering if her sometimes-indecisive nature stemmed from the fact that she was born under the Gemini sign. Like now, when she was smack bang in the middle of the tennis court, Quinn's position practically mirroring hers on the opposite side of the court. Rachel took one last glance at her opponent before moving her eyes to the green orb that was about to land about a meter in front of her, her racket head moving back in preparation to meet it mid air when it rose up again. The question was; which side to hit the ball to?

* * *

Quinn's footsteps, dulled by the rubber soles of her Nike kicks, were the only other sound that reached Rachel's ears as she walked around admiring the portraits on the walls surrounding her. It was early; too early for some, but not too early for a professional athlete that was used to waking up at the crack of dawn to get an early workout in. Too early for most people to want to go into a gallery to look at art, but not too early for a pair of tennis players that had specifically requested the Istanbul Modern Art Museum open two hours ahead of usual to allow them to explore the 'Gaze – The Changing Face of Portrait Photography' exhibition, away from the eyes of the paparazzi and well-meaning autography hunters alike.

Rachel stopped in front of a frame to admire a black and white image of a pair of Turkish newlyweds; their glum expressions starkly juxtaposing what the teenager was sure must have been a happy occasion for the couple. She noted that the other set of footsteps also came to a halt and turned to see where Quinn was. She spotted the blonde leaning close to a portrait of a girl's profile, her eyes narrowed as she took in the details of the photograph. Rachel felt a fond smile make its way to her lips before she returned to her own study of the pictures, but found her mind distracted as her thoughts lingered on the woman she had just been watching.

The two hadn't spent that much time together after the evening of the draw ceremony, where they'd both been placed in the Red Group alongside Lily Chan and Kitty Wilde. They'd shared a few laughs with the other girls during the photo session that followed the ceremony but then Quinn and Santana had excused themselves from that night's player party quite early, citing fatigue from playing the finals in Kremlin then rushing straight to Istanbul as the very valid reason for their early departure. Rachel had then joined Quinn, Santana and Marley for a quick brunch the next day, which was their last one off before the tournament began on Tuesday. Since then she'd seen the blonde in passing, wishing her luck when their paths had diverged in the locker-room and waving at her from across the players' dining room as she and Shelby discussed match strategies over pasta a couple of hours before Rachel took to the court to play against Lily. As had become the norm for them though they continued to text multiple times a day, sending messages both just to each other and to the WhatsApp group that also included Santana and Brittany. Still, the limited interaction hadn't helped Rachel answer the question that had been plaguing her since Sunday; had Quinn really been flirting with her?

The brunette thought back to their interaction from that night, when she'd sworn she'd seen _something_ in Quinn's eyes when the blonde had first spotted her all done up in her Stella McCartney dress. She couldn't have been imagining the way hazel-eyes had lingered on her form just a tad longer than usual, or the blush that had adorned Quinn's cheeks when Rachel had complimented her own attire. The teenager pictured Quinn as she'd looked that night, resplendent in a sleeveless black jumpsuit. She'd found her eyes seeking out the higher-ranked player a few more times that night, feeling a thrill going down her spine every time she found hazel eyes looking back at her. The air between them had felt electric, even when they'd stared at each other from across the room. But you wouldn't have been able to tell from the way she and Quinn had interacted since then. It wasn't that the blonde was being distant or aloof; they'd merely gone back to being what they were. Friends. Good friends, but friends nonetheless. And so a part of Rachel wondered if it had just been her wishful thinking that they had flirted that night. No, that Quinn had flirted with _her_. Rachel knew, without a shadow of doubt in her mind, that any flirtatious behaviour on her part, whether subconscious or not, had been intentional and was rooted in her attraction to the other woman. But maybe Quinn's effusive compliments had been more harmless in their intent. After all, Rachel had heard of friends flirting with one another without it necessarily meaning anything.

The screeching sound of shoes broke Rachel from her musings and she glanced at Quinn again. The blonde had moved further away, hands clasped behind her back as she focused on another portrait. Rachel wondered just how long her own unseeing eyes had been staring at the picture of the miserable looking bride and groom for. Shaking her head she spared it one last look before side-stepping to her left, where the portrait of burqa-clad woman awaited her attention.

The New Yorker was almost done going through the one-hundred-and-sixty years of portraits around her when she was alerted to Quinn's presence by a subtle clearing of the throat. She looked away from the series of portraits of the same soldier taken over a few years to meet Quinn's almost apologetic gaze. "I'm done, and I see the café is about to open. Would you like to have a coffee before we go? We still have about forty minutes before the museum opens to the public," Quinn said.

Rachel smiled, "Sure, I'm almost done too and I'd _love_ a coffee. Could I please get a-"

"A sugar free vanilla soy latte, right?" Quinn interrupted with a twinkle in her eye.

Rachel nodded, genuinely surprised the blonde remembered her order considering that she could have only seen her order it a couple of times. Hazel-eyes twinkled at her, "I'll grab it. You'll find me at a table beside the café when you're done. Take your time."

"Thanks Quinn," Rachel said, keeping her eyes on the other woman's retreating figure for a few seconds before turning her attention back to the portraits of the soldier.

Quinn was nursing a large white mug between her hands when Rachel eventually made her way to the café. The blonde was blissfully unaware of the brunette's approach as she peered down at an open booklet on the table before her. Her attention was diverted when the New Yorker pulled out the chair across from her and sat down. The pair shared a quick smile but stayed silent till a waitress, who appeared almost immediately, had placed another steaming hot mug down and walked away with the teenager's thanks. Quinn moved to close what turned out to be a brochure of the exhibition, drawing Rachel's eyes to the glossy catalogue. Dark brown orbs flitted from the front cover to the woman sat before her. "I've been meaning to ask. The Sato Collection that this exhibit belongs to, would it have anything connection to Asami? I mean, Sato isn't the most common last name, and I've heard Asami comes from money..."

Quinn nodded, "It, in fact, has a _lot_ to do with Asami. As this brochure plainly states, The Sato Collection is a branch of Future Industries' Art Conversation Project. Future Industries was founded by its current CEO Hiroshi Sato, who just so happens to be Asami's father."

"Wow," Rachel said, her eyes widening before she lowered them to glance at her latte that, judging by the slight wisps of steam wafting off it, was probably too hot to drink.

"Wow, indeed. I'm actually a little jealous that Asami will technically one day own all of this," Quinn smiled.

"Really?" Rachel asked, tilting her head as she considered her friend.

"Mmm hmm," Quinn said, taking a sip of her drink. "Wait. Really, you're jealous? Or really, will Asami actually own The Sato Collection one day?"

Rachel let out a laugh, "Really, both, I guess."

"Ok," Quinn grinned. "Asami's an only kid, so I'm assuming she's going to own the majority stake in Future Industries some day. She's actually really into technology and stuff, and helped design the last two Satomobiles. You should ask her about it, but be warned, what'll follow is long minutes of excited geeky rambling that you'll only really understand a teeny, tiny part of."

"Satomobile!" Rachel exclaimed as realization dawned on her. "Sato mobile! _That's_ what that is! I don't know why I always just assumed that Satomobile was a Japanese word for car." She braved a sip of her drink, regretting it the moment she felt it burn her tongue.

Her cringe must have been obvious because Quinn's features contorted into a look of compassion, "Still too hot? Want me to get you some water?"

The brunette warmed at her concern, "No thank you Quinn. I'm alright."

Quinn keenly observed the teenager for a moment before nodding. "Now to part two of your "really", she said, making inverted commas with her fingers. "Yes, I'm really quite envious that Asami will inherit all the marvelous artwork The Sato Collection has amassed over the years."

Rachel smiled at the enthusiasm in the blonde's tone. "Have you always been interested in art?"

Quinn threw back the last of her coffee and, unobserved, Rachel took the opportunity to once again appreciate how good her friend looked in a form fitting white t-shirt and faded denim shorts that barely made it halfway down her thighs. The brunette had felt her pulse race when Quinn had stepped out of the elevator at the Ciragan Palace early that morning, her hair still damp from the shower and her tanned legs on display. And she had to stop herself from spontaneously combusting when Quinn has slipped on a pair of black aviator glasses the minute they'd step out of the hotel's revolving glass door and into the porte-cochere. Why did the object of her unvoiced affection have to be such an effortless stunner?

Rachel was shaken from the memory when Quinn placed the now-empty mug on the table and leaned back in her chair. "Mmm, not modern art so much, but that's probably just because I lack the understanding to appreciate it properly. But yeah, definitely the old stuff. And that extends to architecture and things like that. I just... I think it's so amazing how long some things have been around for. And how they'll be here long after we're gone. I remember visiting the Colosseum for the first time and just standing there in absolute awe, knowing it's been around since 80 AD. _80 AD_! And the pyramids! God, they were built even before that! You look at them and think, how the hell did they get these massive blocks of limestone that weigh like, ten tons, up that high without cranes." The blonde had gotten more and more impassioned as she'd spoken, leaning forward in her seat and using her hands to gesture wildly.

"And you said I should be wary of Asami's geeky ramblings," Rachel said, her tone belying her mocking words. Quinn opened her mouth to protest but the younger woman beat her to the punch. "I'm kidding, Quinn."

The blonde narrowed her eyes at her friends teasing then relaxed her features again with a sigh. "I know I can go off on a tangent. I just think it's amazing," Quinn shrugged.

"I do too," Rachel agreed, earning a skeptical look from hazel eyes. "No really, I do!" the brunette defended herself through a laugh. "I thought the same thing when my parents took me to see the Great Wall of China for the first time; about how many generations of people have walked it. I'd always been obsessed with it as a kid, and my fascination only grew when someone told me it was the only man-made object visible from space. That, disappointingly enough, turned out to be untrue. But the wall itself? Not disappointing _at all_!"

"Yeah, it's something, isn't it," Quinn nodded, her eyes bright. "The Forbidden City is pretty awesome too. Have you been?"

Rachel shook her head, "Yeah. The first time I went to Beijing was right before the Olympics there. Papa's firm had some business related to the Games, so Daddy and I tagged along and seeing the wall and the Palace Museum was really as touristy as we got. I didn't get to see all of the museum's collection then, but I did go back for a couple of hours when we were in Beijing this year. And one day I'd like to take a holiday to go see the Terracotta Army."

"Oh yeah, that's an impressive collection. I actually saw some of the warriors and other artifacts at an exhibition in Sydney last year when I was there for the Sydney International. But I'm sure seeing the entire collection in Xi'an would be way better," Quinn said, bobbing her head up and down. "I'd like to do that too."

Rachel felt a swell of bravery course through her veins, "Maybe we could go together?" she suggested. Quinn didn't respond immediately, so Rachel backed up her comment, "It might be nicer with company." Lifting her mug, she blew on her drink for a second before taking a test sip and deeming it ready for safe consumption.

"You should know I take forever to walk through an exhibition. Santana came to a Harry Potter exhibition with me in Chicago once and had to wait for two hours _after_ she was finished looking at everything for me to be done," Quinn warned. "Now she refuses to go to galleries with me."

"Quinn, you just finished going through this exhibition before I did," Rachel pointed out. The blonde didn't need to know about the distracted contemplations that had slowed her down.

"And if we get a tour guide, which I would like to do when I see the Terracotta Army, then I'll probably ask him a thousand questions, which will slow us down further," Quinn pressed.

"My fathers have always said I'm a part of Gen Why and not Gen Y. Asking questions is part of my forte. In fact, I'll probably ask our guide any questions you forget to ask," Rachel said, taking another sip of her latte.

"In that case, I'd love to go see the Terracotta Army with you," Quinn smiled. "Maybe next year?"

Rachel nodded, "Yeah. During the Asian swing, perhaps? It might be easier if we're in the general area. I'll check tournament dates and talk to Jesse. He says some events are organized long in advance of when they're held, so I should probably see when I'm definitely free."

"He's right," Quinn said. "I'll run it by Roz too. And speaking of Jesse, how are things going with him and Shelby?"

"They're good," Rachel smiled. "They had a mini-holiday in Thailand when we were at the Fed Cup camp in Japan and they're both coming to watch us in Paris next week."

Quinn shook her head, a look of wonderment on her features, "You know, I never would have picked that those two would work so well. Then again, you look at San and Brit and it's definitely yin and yang."

"I know what you mean," Rachel replied. "I guess the heart just wants what it wants." The words struck a chord within her, reminding her of the unexpected person she herself had fallen for.

"Yeah, it's a funny thing, the heart," Quinn said, almost to herself. Rachel watched as she shook her head, almost to break herself from some reverie, and turned her attention back to the brunette. "On the plus side, the press seems to have finally satiated its appetite for questions about those two. I'll bet no one is more relieved than Brittany and Santana themselves."

"Thank God," Rachel agreed. "I don't know why the press was so fixated on the fact that they're dating. It was like they _wanted_ us to say we were uncomfortable having lesbians in the locker-room."

"Mmm hmm. I saw this absolute _quality piece_ ranking the ten hottest lesbian and bi athletes. Santana, Brittany and Asami all made the cut. The gist of the article was that it was a loss for men everywhere that these... what did the article call them? I think it was 'Goddesses of Sport'. Yeah, that these Goddesses of Sport batted for the other team. I can't get my head around the fact that the person that wrote the article probably has a degree in journalism," Quinn deadpanned.

Rachel giggled, "Jesse actually sent me a link to that article, along with a note saying he was surprised I hadn't found a mention on there after my post-match interview in Russia. He even pretended to be mock-offended on my behalf!"

The brunette didn't actually stop to think about what she had just revealed until she saw Quinn's curious expression. "You mean the one where you said you thought sexuality was fluid?"

"Yup, that's the one," Rachel said, struggling to keep her tone light. She wasn't quite prepared to have this conversation with Quinn right now, but knew there was no way to avoid it. She took a sip of her latte, which was almost finished by now. Her throat still felt dry when she placed the mug back down.

"Ah, so you weren't just saying that in, you know, a show solidarity with San and Brit?" Quinn asked, her tone almost too casual. Rachel could see the genuine curiosity radiating off the other woman and knew she had a choice. Either she could tell Quinn the same lie she had told Brittany, her own best friend, about how she had gotten caught up in defending her friends. Or she could tell Quinn the incomplete truth that she had shared with Jesse when her manager had rung her to discuss her statements that were making waves around the tennis world even before she had walked out of the media room.

Rachel cleared her throat, her decision made. "No, I really do believe that sexuality is fluid. So I wouldn't say with absolute certainty and conviction that I'd never date a woman," she shrugged.

Quinn seemed to digest her words, nodding her head as she did. "I see. But you haven't, haven't actually _dated_ a women yet?" she asked.

"No," Rachel said with a shake of her head.

The blonde seemed to consider her next words for a moment, then opened her mouth again. "Have you ever been interested in a woman? Romantically speaking?"

The brunette wondered if her friend could hear her erratic heartbeat. God knows it was making a racket in Rachel's own eardrums. "Yes," she replied, her tone unwavering.

"Was she not interested back?" Quinn pressed, her hazel eyes latched on Rachel's deep brown ones.

"I don't-" Rachel stopped abruptly when the waitress from earlier appeared by her side.

"Sorry to interrupt, but Ms. Fabray asked to be notified five minutes before we were due to open our doors to the public," the woman said.

There was silence before Quinn replied, "Thank you." She sent a polite smile to the woman towering above them, then looked at Rachel, "I guess we should get going, Rach. Unless you wanted to stick around longer?"

"No. I'm ready, too," Rachel said, downing the last of her drink. She felt oddly deflated, feeling the courage she had mustered up just moments ago slipping away.

"If you don't mind, could the staff please take a picture with you two before you leave? We're big tennis fans," the waitress requested.

Rachel and Quinn obliged, posing for a picture with the team in front of the café before exiting through a staff door at the side of the building. A security man assigned to them made sure they were seated in the back of their limo before taking his own spot in the front passenger's seat. The car had begun the journey back to the hotel when Quinn turned to Rachel, "I'm sorry if I got too personal with my questions back there. I-"

Rachel cut her off, "Hey, it's ok! You're my friend Quinn. You're allowed to ask me personal questions."

Quinn looked unconvinced, "Still. I know how annoying the media's intrusive questions can get, and I shouldn't have pre-"

Once again, the brunette didn't let her complete her apology. She raised a hand, effectively silencing her self-critical co-passenger. "Believe me Quinn, I'd tell you if I was uncomfortable. Don't beat yourself up over nothing. Ok?"

"Alright," Quinn relented.

The two women shared a smile and Rachel wondered if Quinn would continue the line of questioning from earlier. Then she saw Quinn quickly glance at the two men sitting in the front of the car, and knew the moment had truly passed. She decided to change the subject. "I forgot to tell you, Khalid organized for my things to be shipped to America yesterday. Thanks for putting me on to him. The shipment should arrive stateside by Monday."

"Oh, good!" the blonde said. "Was there a lot?"

"Yup," Rachel said, with the look of someone who'd been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. "There was already a lot to begin with, and then I went back to the bazaar to buy some more stuff two nights ago. I thought about what you'd said about buying people lanterns for Christmas last year and stole your idea for myself this year. Of course, mine will be Christmas _and_ Hanukah presents."

"You celebrate both?" Quinn asked.

"Yeah. Papa was raised Catholic and Daddy was raised Jewish and while neither of them are overly religious, they wanted me to understand both religions and have the best of both worlds, so to speak," Rachel explained.

"That's pretty cool, actually" Quinn said. "My dad was raised Protestant and mom grew up Anglican, and they often disagreed on things when it came to raising us."

"And what are you?" Rachel inquired.

Quinn shrugged, "Neither. I mean, I guess my parents agreed that we'd be raised Protestant, but I'm more agnostic, leaning towards atheistic. And Frannie converted to Buddhism a few years ago, so there's that. But of course, that doesn't mean she doesn't gladly accept Christmas presents!" Quinn laughed and added, "I guess the same could be said of me though."

Rachel looked out the window and realized they were just a few minutes away from the hotel. "So, what are you up to for the rest of the day?"

"Mmm, I'm gonna take a nap before I have a hit with Emma and Jacob this afternoon. I think I might have overdone my cardio a bit this morning, and I definitely didn't get as much sleep as I normally like to" Quinn replied, stretching her neck to the side.

"What?" Rachel exclaimed. "You went to the gym _before_ we went to the museum this morning?"

Quinn looked like she couldn't see what the big deal was, "Yeah. Only for like, an hour."

"But we left the hotel just after seven," Rachel said. She herself had snoozed her alarm when it had first gone off at six-thirty that morning, and had then rushed to look presentable before meeting Quinn in the hotel lobby.

"Old habits die hard I guess. I like to get my metabolism going first thing in the morning, especially when I'm playing a tournament" Quinn said. "I give myself weekends off when I'm at home."

Rachel shook her head, "Wow. Now I just feel lazy."

This drew a laugh from Quinn. "Rach, we all have different habits and routines. I've seen you train and know you work your butt off in the gym and on court. And don't forget, you played the last match of the night yesterday, while I was out of there by seven. What time did you get back to the hotel?"

"Just after midnight" Rachel conceded. The car entered the hotel gates. "We're here," the brunette said, looking at the flowers that lined the driveway before turning back to Quinn. "Thank you for suggesting the exhibition and then organizing the trip to the gallery."

"_That's_ what I wanted to ask!" Quinn said, as if just remembering. "What did you think of the exhibition?"

"I thought it was really good. I liked the diversity of subjects, and how the photographers used their work to trace societal changes. I thought that was pretty clever," Rachel said. "You?"

"I thought it was good too. I really like exhibitions that highlight different photography techniques and aesthetics, and this one was a goldmine in those terms. I especially liked the early studio photography shots, and how some of the photographers tried to get the same effect with modern equipment," Quinn said, unknowingly impressing Rachel with her observations. "Thank you for accompanying me today," the blonde added, just as the car came to a stop in the porte-cochere.

The pair stepped out of the car and began to head inside. "Let me know if you plan to check out any more exhibitions when we're on tour. I'll probably tag along if we can coordinate our schedules," Rachel said, earning a wide smile from Quinn.

"I will," Quinn grinned, coming to a stop in front of the elevators and pushing the 'up' button to call them. The door on the far left opened immediately and Quinn gestured for Rachel to walk in before following the short brunette and politely greeting the elevator attendant.

"Do you have any big plans for today?" Quinn asked as the doors started to close.

"I'm going to have a quick rest before heading to the Sinan Erdem Dome. I have the court booked for a practice session before today's games," Rachel said, eyeing the numbers of the floors they passed.

Quinn yawned, covering the action with the back of her hand. "Sorry. I think my body just reacted to the word 'rest'" she said sheepishly.

Rachel laughed. "Make sure you get a proper nap before your hit. I'm not going to go easy on you tomorrow, even if you're fatigued" she threw in cheekily as the elevator slowed and came to a halt. Stepping towards the blonde, she leaned in for a hug. "Again, thanks for inviting me today," she spoke into Quinn's ear before planting a kiss on the taller woman's cheek and pulling back. "See you tomorrow," she smiled, before walking out of the elevator.

"Bye Rach," Quinn said to her retreating back.

The brunette turned to look at her friend as the doors closed behind her, and caught a glimpse of tired-but-happy looking hazel eyes before the polished stainless steel doors filled her vision. Turning, she made her way into her suite, leaning against the door when it closed behind her and bringing her fingers to her lips that still tingled from the contact with Quinn's cheek.

* * *

It's funny, the things that cross your mind at the oddest of times. That's what Rachel contemplated, even as she waited for the ball to rise up to meet her racket strings. Even as she was in the midst of deciding which side to hit the ball to, given Quinn's own court position. In those two seconds that seemed to stretch out infinitely, Rachel's mind harked back to her conversation with Brittany the previous afternoon.

"I must have been more tired then I realized. I hit the snooze button twice," Rachel said, her voice still heavy with sleep as she slipped into her sports bra with her back to her phone.

"Yeah, but it sounds like you had a good time," Brittany's voice carried through the phone's speakers. "Hell, you and Quinn sound like you had a better time at the museum than I've had on some dates!" her friend joked.

Her comment gave Rachel pause. She stood there, about to slip her t-shirt over her head, digesting the Englishwoman's statement.

"Rach?" Brittany called. The brunette quickly put her t-shirt on before turning around to face her phone again.

"Sorry Brit, I lost you for a second," she lied, staring at her friend over Facetime. "How're Whitney and Pierce?"

'_It was sort've like a date. She even paid for the coffee..._' Rachel thought, her racket head moving forward to meet the spinning ball. But their interaction had been nothing but friendly. Apart from the kiss Rachel had planted on Quinn's cheek, of course. Which, again, Rachel had initiated and Quinn had simply, well, received. No, Quinn couldn't have thought of it as a date. '_Right?_' Rachel second-guessed herself.

The back-and-forth in her head was starting to annoy Rachel. And this time, it was Shelby's voice that rung out loud and clear in her head. 'Don't overthink it,' her coach's sage voice said.

Rachel's feet lifted off the ground as her racket met the ball. The sound that resulted from the collision was crisp. _Smack!_ Rachel kept her eyes on it the whole way through, adrenaline coursing through her body as the ball beat Quinn's lunging backhand. The applause from the audience was deafening as Rachel took the few steps needed to get to the net.

"Game, set, match, Berry. 6-3, 6-4" the chair umpire called.

"Well played, Rach," Quinn conceded when they shook hands at the net. The blonde leaned in to kiss each of the winner's cheeks, making Rachel's cheeks tingle the way her lips had the previous afternoon.


	37. Chapter 37

**Hi everyone! So wow, this has been the longest I've ever gone without updating. This time it was a lack of any motivation to write that kept me from getting down to business. I'm sure all my fellow writers have gone through a similar slump, and I just didn't want to force myself to hash out empty words. That said, I've got the new chapter ready! And hey, I'm still writing faster than George RR Martin, who gets paid to do this! Haha!**

**Thank you to everyone that has reviewed the story and followed/favourited A Perfect Match and/or your's truly! I think the story has been favourited over 150 times now, which really blows my mind. Thank you so much for the appreciation. And thank you to everyone that has helped me fix grammatical mistakes by pointing them out. I don't have anyone proofread my updates, so it helps when you guys point out the obvious.**

**Alright, I have things to do so I'll cut this short here and just send you off to read the update. As always, I look forward to your feedback! Over and out!**

Gentle steam wafted up from the paper cup Rachel was cradling between the palms of her hands, bringing with it the smell of freshly ground Columbian coffee. The half-consumed drink had been practically forgotten the minute the chauffeur stepped out of the now stationary Peugeot, leaving the brunette alone. Yes, she could have gotten out of the car but Rachel was having one of those mornings where she just didn't want to smile for random strangers who approached her with nothing but the best intentions. So instead she told Philippe, the man who had been driving her around Paris for the last few days, to go ahead while she stayed put.

The American teenager stared out the window, watching people entering and exiting the large building that was bathed in the rays of the morning sun. There were people of all sizes, shapes and colours - some on their own, some in groups; some dressed smartly, some in shorts and flip flops and yet others in uniform. The brunette's wandering eyes caught a glimpse of a slim, tanned woman with wavy black hair, and for a moment she thought it was Santana. A second look cleared her of that incorrect notion, but the initial idea was enough to transport her back to a memory from the previous weekend.

Rachel had sent her bags down to the lobby before making her way to Quinn's door, which was slightly ajar when she got there. '_Quinn really needs to be more careful_' the brunette thought, and had raised her hand to knock when she was stopped in her tracks by the sounds coming from inside the suite. '_Is that... moaning?'_

With furrowed brows Rachel moved towards the door and, after a surreptitious glance around, leaned her ear closer to it. Sure enough, after a moment of silence the unmistakable sound of a woman's moan reached her ears. "Mmm," the voice cooed, thick with pleasure.

Rachel backed away a couple of inches to take stock of the situation, trying to ignore the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Someone was in there with Quinn, evoking those sounds from the blonde. '_I should go_,' she thought, fighting the urge to cry and willing her feet to move. That plan went out the window when a fresh round of moaning could be heard through the door, this time even louder than before.

"Lower, lower. Yeaahhhh, right there. Mmm, so good Q," Rachel heard loud and clear, without even needing to strain her ears this time.

Her eyes went wide with horror. '_Santana?_'

The New Yorker's confusion was quickly replaced by rage as the Spaniard's ecstatic voice came through the crack in the door, "Harder. Come on, you aren't going to hurt me! Ooooh yeah."

Rachel got even angrier when Quinn's own voice joined in a moment later, "Shh, San! You're being very loud!"

Santana made what sounded like a huffing sound, "Who cares if anyone hears? Ooh, go under the shirt!"

Rachel was in shock. She couldn't believe that Santana was cheating on Brittany. And with Quinn, at that! She found no consolation in the fact that Quinn replied to Santana with "I'm not going under the shirt!"

'_How long has this been going on for?_' she wondered, fuming. '_Brit's going to be devastated when she finds out._'

"Yes, yes! That's the spot! Don't stop!" Santana uttered, and Rachel decided she had had enough. Who did those two think they were, having an affair right behind Brittany's back? And- no, this was not the time to think of how silly she felt because of her own feelings for Quinn, who clearly wasn't the person she had believed her to be! No, this was about walking in there and defending Brittany's honour, and her ill placed trust in Santana Lopez! Taking a deep breath, Rachel pushed the door open and stepped into the suite, only to once again abruptly stop at the sight that met her eyes.

Santana was sitting in a chair at the dining table, hunched forwards, and Quinn was standing behind her, scratching her back with a paddle brush. Both women looked shocked to see the teenager burst into the room, and Rachel had a feeling her own expression mirrored theirs perfectly.

Santana recovered first. "Berry," she said, acknowledging the brunette with a nod of her head. "Keep going Q!"

The blonde tore her gaze away from Rachel's to look down at Santana. The brunette saw her blink at the Latina before dropping the hairbrush down into her lap. "You can finish up yourself," she said, before looking back up to smile at Rachel. The brunette felt the urge to laugh at loud at the sudden thought of what that statement would have sounded like from the other side of the door.

By now Rachel realized what was happening, and to say she felt stupid was an understatement. Feeling the burn on her cheeks, she prayed to the heavens above that they weren't as red as they felt. The rest of her interaction with Quinn and Santana was a blur, and the brunette could barely recall stuttering out a goodbye and wishing the pair luck for their final that night before running out the door. She could sense Quinn's confusion at the awkwardness in the air and knew she hadn't helped by opting to take the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator when the blonde waved goodbye from the door.

Even now Rachel felt like an idiot as she thought about how she'd presumed the worst back then. She should have known better than to think that Santana would ever cheat on Brittany. Anyone could see the Spaniard was completely smitten by Rachel's best friend. And the teenager also knew that Quinn held herself to such high standards that it would be very out of character for her to ever be the 'other woman' in the middle of a committed relationship.

'_And anyway,_' Rachel thought glumly, '_she has Jake._' But no, Rachel wouldn't allow herself to dwell on that development right now.

After what felt like an agonizingly long wait but was really just a few minutes Rachel felt the dark cloud over her head lift when she caught sight of Philippe heading back her way with two men in pursuit. Rachel had just finished moving to the middle of the back row when the door to her left opened and her father's beaming face looked down at her. "Daddy!" she squealed like an excited young kid, wrapping her arms around Hiram the minute he'd sat down on the leather seat.

She was still savouring the sound of his chuckle reverberating in his chest below her ear when the door on the other side opened, and in a flash she turned to wrap her arms around her other father. "Papa! I missed you guys" she murmured, inhaling the comforting scent of the man who had raised her.

"We've missed you too, sweetheart," Leroy said, dropping a kiss on the top of her head while holding her tight against his chest.

The front door of the car opened, and Philippe took his place behind the wheel. "À l'hôtel?" he asked, turning around in his seat.

"Oui, s'il vous plait," Rachel responded.

"Or to anywhere we could get some of that," Hiram said half-jokingly, pointing to the coffee cup that Rachel had stashed in the coffee holder between the front driver's side and passenger's side of the car.

"The hotel has great coffee, I promise" Rachel smiled, linking an arm each around her parents' arms as the car exited the Charles De Gaulle airport and merged into the sea of cars full of people heading off to begin their workday. "How was your flight?"

"Comfortable!". "Exhausting!" she heard at the same time, causing another bubble of happiness to burst forth from her lips. She saw Leroy give Hiram a mock-glare and grinned when her Daddy amended his earlier statement with "Comfortably exhausting?"

Leroy shook his head but there was a fondness in his voice when he spoke, "You know your Daddy isn't a morning person, so I think the late night check in time beat him. But, the flight was great. And your Daddy stretched out on his bed and slept the whole way here, so I really don't know why he's so exhausted."

"But I haven't had any coffee," Hiram whined.

"_Because_ he slept through breakfast," Leroy said, looking down at Rachel and pointedly ignoring his partner. The tennis player laughed at his words before sitting back and taking a deep breath. She was so happy to see her fathers.

The fairly long drive back to the Ritz was spent making small talk, and upon arrival the trio headed straight to the Grand Deluxe Room Rachel had booked for her parents. Rachel had considered asking them to stay with her in the Executive Suite the USTA had put her up in for the duration of her stay in Paris but thought her fathers might like some alone time in the City of Love. She'd then offered to book them a suite of their own, but Hiram and Leroy had graciously but firmly told their tennis star daughter that they really didn't need such extravagant quarters. In the end, a compromise had been reached when they acquiesced to her booking them into the most luxurious room the Ritz had to offer.

Rachel ordered breakfast while her parents freshened up and unpacked some of their things. "I feel like I've been transported to a room in a Jane Austen novel," Leroy commented, glancing around the room in awe before hanging up a suit bag in the closet.

"Mmm, it's surreal, isn't it?" Hiram replied while putting some shoes away. "I keep thinking about how this was the last place Princess Diana visited. Not this room, per se, but you know what I mean."

"Wow, yeah, I didn't even think about that," Leroy replied, pulling out a stack of neatly folded shirts from his suitcase and adding them to the clothes in the closet.

Rachel sat quietly at the little table in the corner of the room, content to watch her fathers be, well, her fathers. A year on tour had helped her see why so many players got homesick and she had promised herself that she would never take the little things for granted again.

A knock on the door broke her from her musings, heralding the arrival of the room-service waiter. The knock was followed by a deep voice, "Bonjour. Service en chambre."

Hiram went to open the door and moments later a lanky, blonde man pushed a jiggling and tinkling cart towards the table at which Rachel was seated. The man came to a stop beside the table and stood up straight before casting an expectant gaze across the three faces staring back at him. "Voulez-vouz que je vous sers?"

Leroy cleared his throat. "Umm, no thanks. Non? Merci?" he said, sounding a tad unsure.

Rachel resisted the urge to let out a laugh at the uncertainty in her Papa's voice and smiled at the waiter. "Nous sommes bien, merci," she said kindly. The man gave a slight bow and left the room, closing the door behind him on the way out.

"Been picking up some French, have we?" Leroy asked, taking a seat at the table and staring at the copious amount of food Rachel had ordered. "Also, how long do you think we've gone without eating?" he laughed.

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Well, it's hard not to pick up the basics of everyday conversation when you spend more than a few days in a place. And I just thought you could try a little bit of all my favourite things here at the hotel."

"We're here for the next four days, sweetheart. Which means we don't have to try everything at once," Leroy replied, putting three warm white plates on the table as he did.

Hiram put the last of his things in the closet, slid his empty suitcase under the bed and took his place at the table. "Don't listen to him Rach. I'm starving! Now pass me a croissant, my good man!" he said to his husband.

The trio had all added food to their plates and made themselves hot beverages before conversation resumed. "So, Rach, what is your schedule like today?" Leroy asked, before taking a bite out of a brioche.

"Well, I had an early hit with Jake this morning because I wanted to come pick you up at the airport." Rachel hoped she hadn't cringed visibly when she'd said Jake's name. Then again, her fathers were too engrossed in the French delicacies to be paying attention to her facial expressions. "The other girls were actually just getting to the courts when I left, so they would have probably only finished a while ago. I was going to have a bit of a rest before hitting the gym with Emma and Elliot at two, and then I have the rest of the day off, to spend with my two favourite men."

"That sounds wonderful" Hiram said through a mouthful of pain au chocolat. "And tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow we train hard on the practice courts, from nine to twelve. But we don't have to hit the gym, unless it's a personal choice. I'll probably still try and put in some work with the weights if I'm feeling up to it. And then there's the draw ceremony and press at five." Rachel answered, visualizing her schedule in her head. "I have your passes to get into the ceremony. Please remind me to give them to you."

Leroy nodded. "Have the others players' families arrived too?"

"Marley's mom flies in today afternoon, and I think Quinn's sister might be on the same flight. Sloan's mom and brother got here yesterday, and Cici's dad was actually here with her before I even arrived from Istanbul," Rachel said, taking a sip of her green tea. "They're all really nice. Well, I haven't met Marley's mom yet but I'm sure she's wonderful too. You guys will like them."

Hiram took a big sip of his coffee then sat back with a contented sigh, smiling down at his plate that was already half-empty. "Happy now?" Leroy asked, his eyes fixed on his husband even as he used some cutlery to cut some fruit on his plate.

"Very," Hiram responded, a tired but satisfied grin on his face. Rachel's fathers seemed to share a wordless exchange before Hiram turned to their daughter. "So," he began, clearly trying to fake nonchalance, "anything interesting happening in your life, besides tennis? Have you, I don't know... met anyone interesting?"

Rachel resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She knew exactly where her Daddy was going with this. "Could you perhaps be asking this in relation to the conversation we had when I was in Moscow?"

The brunette couldn't help thinking that the apple hadn't fallen far from the tree when Hiram gave up all pretenses and looked her dead in the eye. "I don't know. Could I?"

The tennis player narrowed her eyes, ready to rise to the challenge she could see in her father's eyes when her view of her Daddy was obstructed by a pristine white napkin. "Allow me to play peacemaker," Leroy said, before lowering the makeshift white flag so Hiram and Rachel could see each other again. "Your Daddy doesn't mean to be as passive aggressive as he's coming off right now, honey." This statement was emphasized with a silent glare directed at Hiram.

"But, yes, we _have_ been wondering since you called us in a panic. More out of concern for you than anything else. And even you must be able to understand the worries of a father, two fathers in this case, who don't get to see their beloved child for months at a time, and to boot, have to watch the world publicly pass judgment on their child's every move. That said, we aren't going to push you if you don't want to talk about it. Are we, Hiram?" Leroy finished.

Hiram muttered something under his breath, which earned him another pointed look. "I'm sorry, but I'm not even sure you're speaking English right now," Leroy said.

"I said, no, we aren't going to push you, Rachel," Hiram mumbled, looking almost like an insolent child who was being told that no, he couldn't have any more candy.

Leroy nodded at his husband and then stole the half-eaten pain au chocolat from his plate, winking at Rachel when Hiram let out an annoyed huff. This time Rachel did shake her head at their antics, even as the hint of a smile danced at the edges of her lips. "Honestly, there's nothing going on..." she began, earning Hiram's undivided attention right away. Leroy played it cooler, sitting back in his chair with his cup of tea in hand.

"Most of my time on tour is spent playing matches, practicing on court or working out in the gym. Then there's- well, you already know the drill; massages, sessions with tournament physiotherapists, the always-delightful ice baths. And then there's the press before and during tournaments, meet-and-greets with fans, and any sponsor obligations I have to complete. So yeah, free time to organize anything even resembling a social life is hard to find. I try to squeeze in some sightseeing when I can but even that is rare," Rachel shrugged.

Hiram looked thoughtful, a crease between his brows. "So you don't really see anyone else? Your Papa and I had sort of assumed that you were alluding to possibly having feelings for someone on tour."

Rachel decided to ignore the second part of his statement, hoping her fathers wouldn't pick up on it. "I see a lot of Shelby, obviously."

"And Brittany, too, from what you're always saying," Leroy pointed out.

"Yeah, and Brit. We try and hang out on the evenings that we both have off. Or catch breakfast together when we can," Rachel said, praying her parents would drop it now.

"And Brittany's always with Santana these days, isn't she?" Leroy asked rhetorically, more to Hiram than herself. "And Quinn's usually there too, so you do see at least those three on a regular basis, right?"

"Mmm hmm," Rachel said, sounding a bit squeaky to her own ears.

"Hmm," Leroy said, sipping on his tea. "So then it _wasn't_ someone on tour you thought you liked?"

'_Yeah, they aren't going to drop this_,' Rachel thought. She took a deep breath, puffing out her cheeks as she let it go. "Yes, I have feelings for someone I've met on the women's tour. But it doesn't matter, because she's straight. So I'm sure my little crush will fade away soon."

There was a moment of silence around the little table, almost as if her fathers weren't really expecting the blunt admission. Hiram turned to Leroy and the pair seemed to have another wordless discussion, which ended with Leroy using his free hand to make a gesture as if to say '_the floor is yours_'. Hiram turned twinkling eyes on Rachel. "Your Papa owes me a hundred bucks. He thought your feelings for your mystery woman were a passing phase."

Rachel blushed at her father's use of the words '_your mystery woman_' to describe Quinn, but her coloured cheeks were ignored when Leroy defended himself. "I did _not_ call it a passing phase!" he exclaimed, looking affronted. "I said there was a _possibility_ you had got caught up in defending Brittany and Santana, and could have just been a little overwhelmed when you spoke to us on the phone!"

"Tomato, tah-mah-toe," Hiram said, waving away his protestations.

Shaking his head, Leroy turned fully towards Rachel, "And the only reason why I owe him a hundred dollars is because _he_ made a wager and then proceeded to pick the option _he_ wanted. So I was basically _told_ that I was left with the 'she doesn't really have feelings for a woman' option."

Hiram blinked a few times. "Come to think of it, I can't actually remember you agreeing to take that bet."

"Thank you!" Leroy said, the look on his face saying he felt suitably vindicated.

Hiram grinned at Rachel, and she got the feeling he'd been trying to rile up her Papa on purpose. Or maybe it had just been a ploy to make her feel more at ease with the conversation, because Rachel definitely felt less on edge after watching that little display. "So," Hiram began, his tone light, "You're crushing on a fellow player, then? Or is it a member of someone's entourage?"

"She's a player," Rachel said, staring down at her green drink that was half-cool by now.

"Ah, ok. And you say she's straight, so that eliminates..." Hiram trailed off.

"Half the women on tour," Leroy quickly threw in, and the two men shared a hearty chuckle. When they finished they saw that Rachel was glaring at them, but her quivering lips gave away her mirth.

Giving up in the battle against cracking a smile, an amused Rachel shook her head at the silly joke. Then she sobered up, "C'mon, you two can't try and guess who it is. That's not part of the rules."

"Ok, ok," Leroy said, putting his hands up in surrender. "We won't guess who it is. But can I ask, is this the only woman you've had feelings for?"

"Yes. And I really didn't realize it till my little epiphany in Moscow," the teenager said, her honesty evident in her voice.

"Well, we're very proud of you for talking to us about it. And can I say, you seem to be handling the revelation remarkably well. Speaking from personal experience, I know how hard it can be to even admit it to yourself," Leroy said, reaching out a hand to rest on Rachel's arm.

"Yup, denial isn't just a river in Egypt," Hiram threw in with a sage look on his face. He grinned when Rachel laughed at the pun.

"Don't encourage him, Rach," Leroy said, even as he smiled dotingly at his partner.

"I am a _little_ bit freaked out," Rachel admitted, "but having you two for parents makes it a lot easier. And I know there's nothing wrong with having feelings towards someone of the same sex, again, mainly thanks to the two of you, and all your friends. And Brittany, Santana and all the lovely queer people I've met through tennis."

"So why are you freaked out then?" Leroy asked, adding some more hot water to his teacup.

"I don't know," Rachel admitted. "Maybe because it's so new?"

"Could you please put some water in my cup too, hon?" Hiram asked Leroy, before turning back to his daughter. "Maybe it's less about your queerness and more about the fact that you have unreciprocated feelings for someone," he said wisely. "Feelings can be tough territory, especially when they're one sided."

"Perhaps," Rachel conceded. A lot of her stress _did_ seem to stem from trying to read into Quinn's interactions with her, and wondering if things meant more than they appeared to on the surface of things.

She was broken from her musings from the clinking sound Leroy was making as he stirred his tea. "How do you know she's straight anyway?"

"Well, for a start she's never indicated any interest in women," Rachel said.

"Neither have you. Well, up till now," Leroy countered.

"Touché," Hiram threw in.

"That's a fair point," Rachel agreed. "And, I'll admit, I did think she might like me back but then-" She stopped just short of saying the word '_today'_. If she had then her fathers would know it was someone who was currently in Paris with them, which would drastically narrow down the possibilities. And then it would only be a matter of time before they figured out it was Quinn.

"But then?" Leroy prompted.

Rachel faked a cough. "Sorry," she said, clearing her throat, "I thought I swallowed a bug or something," she lied. "Where was I? Oh yeah, but then, well, she agreed to go out with a guy when she was standing right next to me, so yeah."

"As in, on a date?" Hiram asked.

Rachel thought back on the incident from earlier that morning. She and Jake Jacob had been cooling down after their practice hit when Quinn, Marley, Sloane, Cici and Emma had arrived for the team hit accompanied by Quinn's physiotherapist Mike Chang and her trainer Elliot Gilbert, who were also both helping Team USA that week. Jake had offered to be Rachel's hitting partner that morning when she had sought permission from Emma to train early so she could go fetch her fathers from the airport, which is why he was working with her instead of the other group.

Rachel and Jake were passing the rest of the girls, who by now were in the middle of warming up, on their way out when Jake stopped beside Quinn and asked, "So, are we on for tonight?" The hopeful look in his eyes piqued Rachel's interest.

Quinn grinned back at him. "We sure are."

Jake's expression changed to one of sheer delight. "Awesome! I have reservations for six-thirty this evening at the restaurant you picked."

"That sounds perfect," Quinn smiled back. Her eyes darted to Rachel, and the teenager did her best to school her expressions so the blonde wouldn't be able to see the distress she was feeling on the inside. "Say hi to your dads for me, Rach."

"I will," Rachel said, faking a smile. "I have to run. See you later, guys," she said to the group, before making her way out of the practice area. Jake caught up to her and accompanied her to where their cars were waiting to take them to the airport and to the hotel, respectively, but the walk there was silent. Rachel had only just remembered her manners and thanked Jake for the morning hit before jumping into the waiting Peugeot to pick her parents up from the airport.

She was certain that Quinn and Jake had been talking about a date, which is why she answered her Daddy in the affirmative. "Yes, on a date."

"Hmm," Hiram said. "I guess it _would_ be odd for her to agree to go on a date with someone else while you were standing right there, if she was indeed interested in you."

"Oh honey," Leroy added, his eyes holding understanding when he looked at his daughter. "I'm sorry. Have you seen much of her since then?"

"Not really," Rachel said, and that was the truth. After all, she _hadn't_ seen Quinn in the few hours since the incident.

Her fathers must have decided that a change of mood was in order, because they seamlessly changed the subject to the arrival of the shipment Rachel had sent to New York from Istanbul. The teenager was glad that they'd dropped the topic. She really didn't want to spend her morning dwelling on the fact that Quinn had agreed to go out with Jake. The trio chatted for a while longer before Rachel left, needing to get some rest before she was due to hit the gym with Emma and Elliot.

She met up with her parents in the lobby of the Ritz again at five-thirty that evening, tired to the bone after an intensive workout. They were going to eat dinner together before Hiram and Leroy went to see the Moulin Rouge Show and Rachel headed off to collapse into her own bed. The Berry's hopped in behind Philippe and set off for La Tour d'Argent, a restaurant Rachel had randomly recalled Francine Fabray interned at after completing her course at Le Cordon Bleu. The older Fabray sister had told her that she just _had_ to go try the duck there the next time she was in the French capital and that had cemented Rachel's decision of where to take her parents on their first night in Paris.

The drive from the Ritz to the restaurant didn't take too long, and upon entering La Tour d'Argent Rachel, Hiram and Leroy were quickly led to table with a view of the Notre Dame, which Rachel had also requested on Francine's advice. They had just finished perusing and ordering from the restaurant's rather extensive wine menu, made extra enjoyable by her fathers' protestations over having been handed guest menus with no prices on them, when Rachel looked up and felt her heart stop for a second. '_Oh no..._" she thought, eyeing the two men heading her way and darting a frantic gaze around the table for her own host's menu to hide behind.

She was too late. "Rachel!" came the call, and she plastered a smile on her face as a sharply dressed Jake approached the table, followed by the maître d'hôtel.

"Hi Jake," she said, straightening the skirt of her short black dress as she rose to greet him.

"You look stunning," Jake smiled, leaning in to kiss the brunette's cheek.

"As do you," Rachel complimented back.

Jake cast a look at her fathers, and Rachel thought to introduce them to him. "Daddy, Papa, this is Jake Jacob. He's a fellow tennis player, and he's helping the US team this week in the capacity of a hitting partner. Jake, these are my fathers, Hiram and Leroy," she said. Her parents stood up too and shook hands with the young man as the trio exchanged pleasantries.

"Would you care to join us?" Hiram asked, after shaking hands.

"No thank you, Sir," Jake said politely. "I wouldn't want to intrude on your family time. And anyway, my date should be out of the ladies room soon."

The minute the words left his mouth, Rachel caught sight of Gabrielle Delacour entering the room, looking gorgeous in a pale blue dress. '_Just how many tennis players decided to come to the same place tonight?_' Rachel wondered just as the Frenchwoman caught sight of her and smiled. Jake noticed her smiling back, and turned to see the blonde himself. "And there she is," he grinned.

Rachel almost gave herself whiplash at the speed at which she turned to look at him. "Wait. I thought you were seeing Quinn tonight?" she said stupidly.

"What? Quinn? No!" Jake replied, his tone incredulous. "Why would you-ohhhh," he said, realization dawning on his face just as Gabrielle came to a stop beside him.

"Bonsoir, Rachel," Gabrielle said, before casting an inquisitive look at Jake who had just let out a laugh.

Jake shook his head at his date before looking back at Rachel, "Quinn played matchmaker tonight, and helped me ask Gabrielle out," he said, a faint blush gracing his tanned cheeks. "That's what we were talking about this morning."

"Ah," Gabrielle smiled, a look of understanding crossing her features. "Oui. She deed. Of course, she also knew zat I was interested een Jake. She ees clever, zat one."

The maître d'hôtel subtly cleared his throat, drawing the attention of everyone in their little group. "We should go sit down," Jake said. "It was nice to meet you, Mr. and uh, Mr. Berry. Enjoy your night."

"Au revoir," Gabrielle added, before the pair followed the maître d'hôtel to their table that was a good fifteen meters away from the one Rachel and her fathers were seated at.

The Berry's sat down again, and Rachel could feel her parents' eyes on her. Sure enough, Hiram was staring at her with a twinkle in his eyes when she looked up. "So," her Daddy said, a smile dancing at the edge of his lips, "Quinn Fabray, huh?"


	38. Chapter 38

**Hello everyone :) Ok, let's clear some things up first - **

**I am still very motivated to finish this story, so that isn't the problem****. Some people seemed to be worried when I said that my muse had abandoned me for a bit, but make no mistake, this story will be finished, and it will be completed the way I want it to be. That said, I won't hash out meaningless words just to have an update up. I've spent too much time on this to drop the ball right now! And I'm not just going to throw in random Faberry interaction if it doesn't fit into the plan I have in my mind!**

**Secondly, let's address the irregularity of my updates.****I've had two days off, and you know what I've done? I've written an update. I could have gardened, gone for a massage, taken my dogs to the beach or done a number of other things, but I chose to type away on my keyboard to get another chapter up. Think about that the next time you're writing feedback. It's what me and a number of other writers do. Please, keep the constructive criticism coming, because that helps me shape my story and characters. But give me a break for not being able to have a new chapter up every week or fortnight! **

**Now that I am done ranting, thank you to everyone that has sent me feedback. I have read it all, and responded to the ones I could. To anyway who has sent me feedback as a Guest, I assure you your comments are just as welcome as anyone else's. A special thank you to anyone that has written me to point out grammatical/spelling errors. Let me know if you see any in this update! And muchos gracias to everyone who has followed or favourited myself or this story. **

**Now, on to the update! This one is about progressing the story forward, and really just setting up the next chapter****. As a writer I am very satisfied with what it does, and I hope you readers enjoy it too.**

**Here we go...**

_"__Are you alright?"_

Rachel stared into concerned hazel eyes, and willed her heart to slow down. Truth be told, she was terrified. She glanced past the blonde at the commotion taking place behind the taller woman, realizing that Quinn had put herself between Rachel and the-

_Gasp!_ Rachel shot up in her bed and immediately turned her head in the direction of the alarm clock on her bedside table. The neon numbers glowed bright in the room rendered pitch dark by the blackout blinds covering the wall to ceiling windows in Rachel's room. She had slept through her alarm. Wait, had she even set her alarm?

Rachel blinked slowly, her brain beginning to really wake up. She looked back at the alarm clock with furrowed brows, and this time noticed the date blinking under the larger numbers. With a sigh, Rachel fell back onto her pillows. She was on holidays. Or at least what Jesse called a "tennis star's version of time off." The brunette let out a wry chuckle as his words resonated in her ears.

Her fathers were in the kitchen when Rachel entered the room, tying her hair up in a knot as she walked. They looked her way. "Morning, sweetheart," Hiram said, his eyes moving up to the clock on the wall behind his daughter. "Didn't feel like a sleep in?"

Rachel welcomed a kiss from Leroy as they crossed each other at the fridge and answered her Daddy while pulling out ingredients to make herself a smoothie. "My body clock's still set to training mode."

"Third day in a row, huh?" Leroy asked, sitting down opposite his husband and reaching for his coffee.

"I'm sure it'll pass," the teenager yawned, throwing some yoghurt, honey and fruit into the glass jar before blending it. For the next few moments the only sounds in the Berry kitchen came from the NutriBullet whipping Rachel's breakfast into a literal pulp.

"So, what are you doing before that interview-thing you have today?" Hiram asked when his daughter took her seat at the table.

Rachel shrugged. "I have the morning and afternoon off, so I thought I might go to the gym for-"

"But you're on holiday," Hiram interrupted.

"Yes, and I will still be a professional athlete when my holiday is over, so I would like to at least maintain my fitness and stamina levels while I have some down time," Rachel replied patiently.

"I suppose that makes sense," Hiram conceded.

"Do you also plan to hit the courts before you resume training with Shelby?" Leroy asked.

"Yes," Rachel nodded, "but just to keep the rust off. I was actually thinking of heading down to the BJK Center tomorrow to see if I could help out with one of the junior programs. They have a session in the afternoon."

"Oh, they'd love that!" Leroy smiled at his daughter.

"You don't think the coaches will think I'm interfering?" Rachel asked, uncertain.

"Of course not!" her Papa exclaimed. "Imagine Serena Williams showing up to help out when you were twelve!"

"I'm no Serena," Rachel said, shaking her head bashfully. "But yes, I get what you mean."

"And maybe you could have a hit with your two old men one of these days too, huh? Like old times," Hiram piped up.

"_I_ would love that," Rachel grinned, "although, you better not expect me to go easy on you."

Hiram pulled a face. "As if! Which is why it will be the two of us versus you. Playing singles lines, of course." Hiram made a fist in Leroy's direction, and Rachel rolled her eyes when her fathers fist-bumped across the table.

Leroy looked at his watched as he brought his hand back. "Crap! I'm going to be late!" He jumped up, kissed his husband on the lips, kissed the top of his daughter's head, downed the last of his coffee before placing his mug on the kitchen island and ran out the kitchen, calling out "Hiram! You're in charge of dinner tonight!" Seconds later, Rachel could hear the front door open and close.

"I hear they're thinking of making a TV series about The Flash. I should send in an audition tape. Your Papa would be perfect for the part," Hiram said drily.

Rachel laughed as she rose to put her now empty glass jar into the dishwasher. "Don't you need to get going too?"

"Nope, it's surgery day. Which means I get to start a little later, and talk to my favourite daughter for a whole," Hiram glanced at his watch, "extra five minutes."

"I'm your favourite daughter, am I?" Rachel asked, resting her elbows on the island bench and leaning forwards. "Could that maybe be because I'm your only daughter?"

Hiram shook his head as she stood up, "You're my favourite daughter because you're my favourite daugher. Which is why _you're_ the one going to Chicago this weekend to watch Kinky Boots with Leroy and I."

Rachel squealed. "Really?" she said, running up to give her Daddy a hug.

"Really. We even checked with Jesse to make sure you didn't have any work commitments scheduled for this weekend before booking the tickets," Hiram replied.

"Thanks Daddy," Rachel said. "I can't wait. Yay! Something to look forward to!"

"Mmm, your Papa and I thought you might be going a little stir crazy," Hiram said. "Which is frightening, since you haven't even been off for half a week yet..."

"I'm not going stir crazy," Rachel defended herself. Hiram merely raised an eyebrow, clearly not believing her. "Ok fine! I've been a _little_ bored when you guys aren't home, but that's just because I'm not used to not having any spare time to myself."

"I can understand that," Hiram said, wrapping an arm around his daughter. "Why don't you go out and see some of your friends?"

"I saw them yesterday," Rachel shrugged.

"All of them? In one day?" Hiram asked, looking confused.

"Most of my friends from New York are the ones I trained with at the USTA center. The ones that now play on tour are back with their own families across America, and the ones that didn't make it are away at university. Which leaves Jonathan and Gwen, who I saw yesterday," Rachel said. "If it helps, I'm seeing Kurt for lunch tomorrow."

"Ah, ok, I get it," Hiram said. "Well, all I can say Rach is that your month off will be over before you know it so, as hard as it might seem, please try and give your batteries the rest they need to recharge properly. You need the time off after the year you've had. Do what you need to do to keep your fitness and stamina levels up, yes, but, I don't know, maybe lie down in front of the TV and catch up on all the movies you've missed over the last year!"

Rachel pondered his words. "You know, that's actually not a bad idea."

"I'm full of good ideas," Hiram crowed. "You just need to listen to me more often."

"Aren't your five minutes up?" Rachel asked, giving him a pointed look.

"I love you too," Hiram said, turning to make his way to the door. "Will you be back in time for dinner tonight? I'm cooking Thai curry."

"Yum," Rachel said, following him out the kitchen. "Yeah, I should be home by seven at the latest. That's when the segment airs so I should actually be done well before then."

Sure enough, it was five-twenty in the evening when Rachel was led from her makeup room to a small studio in the Time Warner Building, and fitted with a microphone and earpiece before being asked to sit down with her back to the green screen. A large monitor was placed before her, so she could see the broadcast journalist himself as well as the footage that would be playing while they were speaking to one another via CNN's video link from the company's Atlanta Center.

"The lights are about to come on Ms. Berry. They might give you a blind sport for a couple of seconds," a voice called out from somewhere behind the camera that was pointed right at her.

Rachel nodded. She'd been through this drill enough times to know how it worked by now, and made sure she was looking at the floor when the lights were turned on. After a few seconds she looked up, running her gaze from the monitor to the camera that was right above it. As expected, she couldn't see anything beyond the camera.

"Are you alright Ms. Berry?" the same voice from before asked.

"I'm fine, thank you," she answered, reaching for the glass of water beside her and taking a small sip.

"Ok, we're about to bring Mark in via satellite," the voice said. Sure enough, the bespectacled, friendly face of a man popped up on the monitor.

"Hi Rachel," the journalist smiled.

"Hi Mark," the brunette smiled back. "How are you?"

"Good, thanks. Congratulations on, well, everything you've achieved since we last met. Especially the Davis Cup," he grinned.

Rachel could hear some discussion about a slight lag time as she thanked the journalist, who was one of the first people to interview her after she won the US Open. "I think there's a slight delay here, so the guys are just going to fix that up before we start taping. Have they walked you through what we're doing?"

"Yeah, Jesse, my agent, he's here, so I've been briefed. You have some footage from the finals and we'll be talking about the win, right?" Rachel answered.

"Exactly," Mark replied, and Rachel noticed that he did indeed take an extra second or two to answer. There was the delay. "It should be nice and simple. Just one question before we start – is there anything you wouldn't be comfortable talking about?"

Jesse had already asked her this question, so Rachel had had time to think about it. Taking a deep breath, she replied, "No, nothing I can think of. And if something does come up then I'll let you know. Is that ok?"

"That's the magic of pre-taped segments," Mark smiled. "You say- Sorry, just a moment Rachel, my producer's talking to me. Uh huh, sure, got it, Bob. Apparently we're ready to go. As I was saying, you say stop and we'll stop. Ok?"

Rachel nodded. "Ok, you'll hear a countdown to one in your earpiece, and I'll start right after," Mark finished.

The brunette saw him reach for a glass of water and did the same on her side of the feed as a deep voice began counting down from five. "...two, one, go..."

"This past weekend saw the US Federation Cup team bring the trophy back to American shores for the eighteenth time in the tournament's history, with the US making a dramatic comeback from two-one down to win the annual tennis team championship. Joining World Sport from New York now we have one of the stars of the weekend, Rachel Berry. Welcome to show Rachel," Mark began.

"Thanks for having me Mark," Rachel smiled back.

"Congratulations on being a newly minted Fed Cup champion. Does it feel surreal, especially considering that this was your first ever tie for your country?" he asked.

Rachel nodded, "Oh yeah, for sure. I mean, it's always been a dream of mine to play for my country, and getting the opportunity in a final was just... there are honestly no words to describe what that's like."

Mark nodded, "So walk us through what you were thinking going into that reverse singles tie against Fournier. Was the pressure immense, considering you had lost your opening singles match?"

"Well," Rachel began thoughtfully, "obviously I knew that I had to win to keep our chances alive. So yeah, there was pressure, but I will say that Emma Pillsbury, our captain, was fantastic about keeping me in a good headspace and keeping me calm. I was half afraid she'd suggest asking Marley to play the reverse singles instead of me, but she never brought it up. And I'm so grateful that she kept the faith in me."

"There _was_ some media speculation that Pillsbury would ask Rose to step in after Stephens and Bellis lost the doubles against Vause and Burset. So that never came up within the team?" Mark questioned.

"Never" Rachel said, with a shake of the head. "And Marley personally spent extra time with me on court after the doubles loss so make no mistake, she was as instrumental to this win as any of us that actually got match play." Rachel smiled when an image of Marley cheering from the sidelines in her red, white and blue team kit popped up on the screen.

"Ok, so you're on the court, serving for match at 6-3, 5-3 up, when an intruder jumps onto the court. What was going through your mind?" came the next question.

Rachel took a deep breath, her eyes glued to the pictures of the man with the American flag painted on his face that were playing in a slideshow of sorts on the monitor. She took in her own rigid posture, her racket up in front of her as the man headed her way. "Well, I remember I was facing the ball kids behind me, and as they were bouncing balls my way I heard murmurs from the crowd that didn't sound like the normal chatter at a tennis match. It's hard to explain. But yeah, I looked up and the ball kids were staring at something over my shoulder, so I turned around and saw this man running past Danielle, heading my way. Raising my racket in front of me as a sort of barrier was just instinctive, I guess."

"Were you afraid?" Mark asked.

"Oh, yeah," Rachel nodded. "I think after what happened with Seles everyone's just scared when they see an intruder on court. Unfortunately you just never know what their intentions are."

"The Roland Garros security is getting some flak for being slow to react," Mark pressed.

"And I think that's justified," Rachel stated, her tone matter-of-fact. "That's what the security is meant to be there for, right? So the fact that someone was able to get past what, ten or twelve guards lining the court, means there's a definite problem there. And this isn't the first time it's happened there either. The same thing happened in '09, during the Federer-Soderling final. And a few other times too."

The footage on the screen changed to a video of the action, and Mark's voice came through her earpiece, "So it looked like you were basically a deer in headlights and then out comes Quinn Fabray"

Rachel stared at the footage she had already viewed over and over again. It was a wide shot of Rachel slowly backing away from the intruder who was at the net by that point. In the background you could see Quinn jump over the courtside advertising board that the US team was sitting behind and start to sprint towards Rachel. Behind her the security men guarding the American team finally seemed to react too, and they followed the blonde World No. 1 onto the court. Fortunately the guards behind the camera had followed suit too, and tackled the intruder milliseconds after Quinn slid to a stop in front of Rachel, effectively shielding the smaller woman behind her back. The man had been less than three meters away from Rachel at that point.

Rachel didn't realize when she started speaking. "I honestly didn't notice Quinn till she was standing right in front of me. Actually I don't think I even understood what was going on till she turned around and asked me if I was alright. I was so focused on watching the guy coming at me that everything else just just bled into the background. I think seeing him tackled to the ground snapped me out of it."

"The media is calling her actions brave. Like you said, you didn't really know what the intruders intentions were," Mark pointed out.

"Oh, Quinn's incredible," Rachel said, her eyes wide open. "Just the fact that she came out to protect me, defend me, it's... it's as selfless as it gets. I am so grateful to be able to call her my friend."

"_And_ she reacted faster than the security staff," Mark said with a chuckle, obviously trying to lighten the mood. "Is she also a secret superhero?"

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to discuss that," Rachel joked back.

"Well, you might have your own superhero powers, the way you won that match," Mark complimented.

Rachel shrugged, "I think it was obvious that I was shaken up, and did a miserable job of serving for the match. My head was still a mess when I sat down at 5-4, but Emma calmed me down in that changeover. She told me I was safe, and to forget everything except the ball. It was easier said than done but I managed to hold my serve to go up 6-5 and found my groove again in the second half of the tiebreaker. To be honest I was willing myself to get the job done because I didn't want to have to spend another set freaking out on court," she laughed.

"And then Fabray came out and practically blitzed Delacour off the court," Mark pointed out.

"Yeah, she proved to us all why she's the top-ranked player in the world," Rachel agreed.

Mark took a different line of questioning, "The US team kept its victory celebrations pretty low-key, but does the invitation to the White House make up for that?"

"Oh, definitely! We've been invited to the lighting of the National Christmas Tree, and everyone is very excited," Rachel said, her eyes alight with excitement.

"Ok, last question," Mark smiled. "Your freshman year on tour has been one most players only dream off, complete with your first Slam and a Federation cup title under your belt. How do you think you'll deal with the pressure of being a top gun in 2013?"

"I don't think I'll really know until the year starts but, yeah, it will definitely be different to where I was at the same time last year. I have a great coach and team of people working with me, so hopefully we pick up right where we left off in 2012," Rachel replied. "But first, I'm looking forward to a mini-vacation with my fathers!"

"Well, good luck to you, Rachel. And thanks for joining us on World Sport," Mark concluded.

"Thanks Mark," Rachel smiled.

"And cut!" came the call in her earpiece. The brunette exchanged a few pleasantries with the journalist before the screen went blank and someone from the sound department came to take her mic and earpiece off her. The tennis player was ready to go home. It had been too long since she'd eaten her Papa's Thai curry.

The green curry was as delicious as Rachel remembered it, and she had taken a bite from her bowl even before she plonked herself down on the couch between her fathers. "Have you set it to record?" Hiram asked Leroy.

"Yup," Leroy replied, shoveling some food into his mouth. "Mmm, excellent job as always, honey," he complimented his husband.

"Seconded," Rachel threw in.

"I aim to please" Hiram grinned. "Ok, shh! It's about to start!"

The three Berry's watched the broadcast of Rachel's interview in silence, the only sounds in the room coming from the TV and their ceramic dinner bowls. The pictures and footage that Rachel had seen earlier intermittently filled the screen as a backdrop to her answers, with the editors cutting out her occasional silent spells. Other than that the short interview was largely left unchanged.

Leroy pressed a button on the remote, presumably to stop recording the program. "That was nice, sweetheart," he said. "I thought you handled the questions well."

"Thanks Daddy," Rachel replied. "Jesse had run me through which questions I could expect, and we'd prepped for the ones about the intruder."

"Still, you looked comfortable taking the questions. And it looked like you answered them honestly," Leroy asserted.

"I'm always amazed when I see the footage of Quinn jumping out to your defense," Hiram piped up. "As if I wasn't already amazed by the girl whose got our baby in a spin."

"Papa!" Rachel protested, blushing.

"What? It's a compliment! You've chosen well!" Hiram said. "You should totally tell her how you feel."

Rachel spluttered, unable to form an actual retort. Leroy, who had been watching her with a thoughtful expression, spoke up. "He's right. Watch that video again, and look at her expression. That girl cares for you deeply. Maybe it's a romantic love, maybe it's platonic, but it's definitely there. So tell her. She doesn't seem like the sort of person to stop talking to a friend who has feelings for her. And it might give you some clarity too, or maybe even closure. Unless you prefer just sitting around and obsessing over the unknown."

The brunette's kneejerk reaction to her fathers' advice was to get defensive, but the logical part of her knew they were right. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she gave them an almost imperceptible nod. "I know you're right, both of you. And... I'm trying to build the courage. I'm going to Miami in a couple of weeks, so maybe I'll be brave enough by then."

Hiram reached out to squeeze her shoulder. "At the end of the day it's up to you, Rach. Believe us, we know that advising someone is a whole different ballgame than taking that leap yourself. So whatever you choose to do, we'll support you. Just, don't let something good pass you by, ok?"

Rachel bobbed her head up and down, and Leroy stood up on her other side. "Ok, who's up for some dessert? Ice cream?

"Not so fast mister, you have dishes to do first," Hiram said, rising to follow his husband to the kitchen.

"Oh, I can do the dishes. Papa, you get dessert sorted. And pick a movie" Rachel called, and moved to get up as well when her phone pinged. She glanced at the locked screen, which bore a new message.

**Quinn Fabray** –_ So I'm incredible and selfless, am I? ;)_

Rachel grinned at the message, and quickly unlocked her phone to type out a reply. '_The lies I'm forced to propagate on national television..._'

She hadn't even put her phone down when Quinn shot back a scandalized-looking emoji. The brunette laughed as she locked her screen before going to help out in the kitchen.

Her fathers were right, a determined Rachel thought as she walked. Obsessing over the unknown no longer felt like the right approach.


	39. Chapter 39

**Hello everyone :) I know it's been a while but as I've said all along, this story is still a priority for me. It's just that sometimes real life gets in the way of your hobbies and I didn't have as much time to write as I would have liked. Believe it or not, I've been chipping away at this update for a few weeks now, and I'm still not done with it. But then I got to Page 18 of the Microsoft Word document I was writing on and decided to split the update in two. You see, there is more I want to do with this "scene", but it was getting too long for my taste. So think of this update as 39A, with 39B to follow in the coming fortnight. **

**Another reason why I decided to split the update in half and post this bit now is the sheer number of messages I was getting from people telling me they missed the story and hoping that I hadn't abandoned it. I don't usually respond to reviews/feedback/critiques between chapters, so think of this as a compromise. While Chapter 39A is more a slice of life that tells you more about the characters, Chapter 39B will be the bit that really progresses the story forward. That line isn't meant to be a tease; anyone that's familiar with my style of writing will know that character development is very important to me, because it explains character motivations going forward without me having to justify why someone is doing something. I hope readers that have specifically written to tell me they'd like to know more about the Rachel, Quinn and co in my story will especially like this update.**

**Before I update, allow me to thank everyone that has written to me after the last update to let me know how much they enjoy this story. It's always gratifying to hear that people take enjoyment from someone you create, and I was blown away by how much people really want me to finish this story. So thank you for all your words, follows and favourites :) I hope all is well with each and every one of you.**

**And now, here's 39A!**

"Rach!"

Rachel looked up to see Brittany waving at her and quickened her pace as she hurried towards her friend. She let go of her suitcase to embrace the tall Englishwoman. "Where's Santana?" the New Yorker asked when they parted.

"Waiting outside, in the car," Brittany replied. "Shall we?"

"Let's go" Rachel smiled, reaching for the handle of her suitcase and rolling it behind her as she followed her friend out of the airport.

"That's her," Brittany said, nodding at a sleek black Audi that was parked in a short-term waiting area. The girls approached the car and put the suitcase in the boot before climbing inside.

"Hi Santana," she said, closing the door and buckling herself in.

Santana half-turned in her seat to nod her head at the newcomer, "Hola Berry. Good flight?"

"Yes, thank you. And thanks for coming to pick me up this early in the morning," Rachel replied.

"No problem," the Latina said, turning around and starting the car. "I usually pick early flights too. Makes it easier to travel incognito."

"I hear you," Rachel nodded.

"Grand Slam champ problems," Brittany said, drawing a laugh from the other two for her spin on 'first world problems'. "I rarely have fans approach me at the airport. And when they do, it's usually to tell me I'm an inspiration to the gay community. That After Ellen interview worked more wonders for my fame than anything I've achieved on the tennis court."

Santana reached over to squeeze her girlfriend's hand. "It's just a matter of time, babe."

"Aww you two," Rachel cooed, making sure it sounded extra sickly sweet.

"Shut it, Berry," Santana retorted, but you could hear the amusement lacing her tone.

The short brunette rested her head against the leather seat, side-eyeing a takeaway cup that was placed in one of the cup-holders that divided the car's rear seats. The scent wafting out of the cup made Rachel's mouth water. "Uh, not to be presumptuous," she began, "but is that coffee for me?"

"Oh, yeah!" Brittany said, as if she'd completely forgotten about it. "We got you a vanilla soy latte on our way here. I couldn't remember whether or not you took sugar with yours, so I grabbed a couple of sachets just in case."

Rachel's mind briefly drifted to the gallery in Istanbul where Quinn had surprised her by knowing her coffee order by heart, down to the sugar-free bit. She glanced at the two sugar sachets in the second holder as she lifted her drink. "No sugar, thanks Brit." Rachel took a tentative sip of the latte to check how hot it was, following it up with a bigger swig when it didn't burn her tongue.

"So," she asked, nursing the cup between her two hands, "how was the joint family holiday?"

"Good!" Brittany chirped. "Mum and Dad got on really well with Sanny's family. In fact, Maribel and Alma are coming to London to spend some time in our neck of the woods before we leave for Australia."

"That's great" Rachel smiled, genuinely happy for her friends.

"How about you? How's your off-season going?" Santana asked, glancing at Rachel in the rearview mirror.

"It's been relaxing," Rachel replied. "I've caught up on most of the TV shows and movies I've missed this year, watched a few musicals on Broadway, spent time with my fathers. We went to the Caribbean for a few days, which was amazing!"

"Yeah, Brit-Brit wants to go to Jade Mountain too after seeing your Instagram pictures," Santana commented as she came to a stop at a red light.

"You should! Heck, I'll even come back with you, if you don't mind a third-wheel tagging along," Rachel stated, only half-joking.

"Mmm, I'm sure we could find someone to keep you company," Brittany said, sharing a smile with Santana before the Latina put the car into drive and turned right when the lights turned green. "But yes, we'll coordinate the trip with you."

"Thanks Brit," Rachel said, deciding to let her friend's first comment slide. "So, have you two played much tennis this past month?"

"Not really," Santana said. "I like to give my body a few weeks off in the off-season and don't start training till the first of December. But I do stick to my usual gym routine. No point losing muscle and stamina."

"You should probably have a hit before the exhibition match though," her girlfriend pointed out.

"You're right," Santana agreed. "I'll take my rackets to Q's today, and we can have a hit on her court. That bitch is probably in great nick. I'll never understand why that woman only gives herself two weeks off in the year."

Rachel was well aware that Quinn had started training for the 2013 season thanks to the text messages the two had been swapping as well as the videos the World No. 1 had put up on her social media pages. She wouldn't lie; seeing Quinn's dedication to the game had made her second-guess her own decision to take the rest of November off, but she trusted Shelby's judgment that she needed a few weeks away from the court to recharge her batteries after her grueling freshman year on tour.

"What about you? Are you hitting yet?" Brittany asked.

The teenager shrugged. "I've rallied with kids in the junior groups at the BJK Center at the end of the training sessions I've been to and demonstrated some strokes to them but, yeah, I haven't hit per se. Unless you also count the _matches_ I've played against Daddy and Papa, which, if you ask them, they've won fair and square," Rachel deadpanned.

The two women in the front of the car laughed. "That's still more than Brit and I have been doing," Santana smiled. "I think it's great that you're doing the USTA thing, by the way."

Rachel bobbed her head, bashful at the praise from the Spaniard. She looked out the window, staring up at the last stars as they disappeared from the sky. "Have you seen Quinn since she got back from seeing her father, Santana?"

"I picked her up from the airport on Tuesday night," Santana nodded, keeping her eyes on the road.

"Was she... did she seem ok?" the New Yorker asked.

Santana didn't answer immediately. "She was... quiet-ish on the drive back to her house, but not worryingly so. Quinn has her contemplative moments and in my experience I've found that its best to leave her to work through her thought process. I'm confident she'll turn to me, or, you know, any of us, if she needs to talk about something."

Rachel nodded, still looking out the window. "I texted her last night to say I was flying out to see some family in Ohio today. Figured I'd cover my tracks, just in case someone took a picture of me at the airport and she sees it when she wakes up."

She watched Santana's head move as the Spaniard nodded. "Smart thinking. I wouldn't put it past Q to stick to her routine and check tennis news first thing in the morning, even on her birthday."

"Mm hmm," Rachel agreed, a fond smile gracing her lips. "So, what _is_ the plan for today?"

"We're going to swing by San's for breakfast before we head to Quinn's at around ten. Sanny wanted to go straight there from the airport, but I thought it might be a bit cruel to show up unannounced at someone's house at seven am," Brittany said, shooting at unimpressed look at her girlfriend. "Especially on their birthday!" she added, for good measure.

"I still think we're missing out on a great opportunity to get some epic video footage," Santana muttered, earning another glare from the blonde. "But yeah, Brit's right."

Rachel giggled. "You're so whipped, Santana." That earned the New Yorker the finger, which in turn earned the Latina a gentle smack on her arm from her co-passenger. "How long is the drive to your house, Santana?"

Santana glanced at the clock on her dashboard. "About another forty-five minutes. So get some shut eye if you want."

Rachel nodded. She had woken up just past two a.m., and the movement of the car was lulling her to sleep. "I think I will. Wake me up when we get to yours," she said, closing her eyes and turning her head to the side to get more comfortable against the seat. She was asleep in seconds.

* * *

Santana leaned out of the window and punched a code into the keypad that was fitted into the wall. Rachel watched with interest as the two giant wooden halves of the gate parted, giving the teenager her first glimpse of what stood behind the blockade. All she could see was a long driveway that curved right and disappeared. Santana drove the Audi through the gate and continued slowly up the road, giving Rachel time to marvel at the perfectly manicured trees, hedges and flowerbeds that lined the private road.

"Wow," Brittany remarked, a reverent quality to tone. Rachel looked ahead to see if the passengers in the front of the car could see anymore than she could, but she could still only see the driveway. The Englishwoman was clearly just as awed as her American friend.

Santana hummed. "Q takes a lot of pride in her home. She had the whole place professionally landscaped from scratch when she first moved in, and has the same company come in to look after everything once a fortnight."

"Wow," Brittany repeated. "Oh, look! There's the house. Hmm," she paused, sounding uncertain, "I'd imagined the house would be bigger."

This drew an amused laugh from the Latina, "That's the office, B. Quinn had it specially built for her interviews and business meetings because she didn't want strangers in her actual home. Which makes sense; some things have to be private. That's why I built the separate entrance to the office at mine. But yeah, if I move then I'm definitely going to take a page out of Q's book and keep the office in a completely separate building to the living area."

Rachel listened to her speak, keeping her eyes on the small single level building as they drove past. She shot her eyes forward when seconds later Santana said, "_That's_ the main house."

The teenager's eyes went wide. She had thought Santana's house was large, but Quinn's seemed to supersede the Latina's Palm Beach Gardens mansion. The horticulture around the driveway changed as they pulled up to the imposing structure; here, palm trees lined the road in two neat rows. There must have been almost two-dozen trees on each side of the driveway, following the curve of the road before it disappeared behind the house.

Santana brought the car to a stop under the porte-cochère and undid her seatbelt. Rachel took that as a cue to undo her own buckle and climb out of the car. The three women had just come together when a middle-aged lady with short red hair walked out the double doors that led into the house. "Santana," the woman smiled, approaching the group.

"Red," Santana smiled back, leaning down to welcome a hug from the woman before turning to her companions. "Brit, Rach, this is Red, uh, Galina."

"Don't vorry," the woman said in a strong Russian accent, patting Santana's arm, "I prefer Red."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Red," Brittany smiled, putting her hand forward to shake Red's hand. "I'm-"

"I know who you are," Red smiled, ignoring the Englishwoman's hand and pulling her in for a hug. "I votch every match Quinn plays," she added, as way of explanation.

Rachel was prepared when Red pulled her in for a hug too and smiled at the woman when she pulled away. "It's nice to meet you," she said politely, earning a nod from the redhead.

Red turned her attention back to Brittany, appearing to give her a once over from over the rim of her glasses. "If this vun here," she said, jerking a thumb in Santana's direction, "gives you a hard time then you come to me. I vill set her straight," she said, earning a _humph_ from the Spaniard.

Rachel laughed. Maribel had warned Santana not to be a brat before they'd left the Latina's house twenty minutes ago and had told the out-of-towners to let her know if her daughter was painful while they were gone. Clearly Santana got the same spiel from all the mother figures in her life.

Brittany shot Red a blinding smile. "I will, Red. Thank you."

"Anyway," Santana cut in, letting out an exaggerated sigh, "where is the birthday girl?"

"Vith her marigolds," Red replied. "Go find her. I vill be in the kitchen, preparing pelmeni for tonight."

Santana's eyes lit up. "You're the best Red."

Red kept a neutral face but a smile danced at the edges of her lips. "Yeah, yeah. There is borscht to cook as vell."

The Latina licked her lips, making a smacking sound. "Mmm, I'm telling you Red, if I didn't already have this one..." she said, putting an arm around Brittany's waist.

The cheek earned her a smack on the back of her head. "_Besstydnyy_! Go now, I have vurk to do." Red turned on her heel and walked back into the house.

Rachel and Brittany shared a smile as Santana rubbed the spot where she'd just been hit. The trio started to follow the path the redhead had taken when Rachel stopped. "Um, San. What about our bags?"

Santana turned to look at her, still rubbing her head. "They aren't going anywhere. Let's go see the birthday girl first, then we can come back to grab our things."

Rachel nodded and continued to follow Santana into the house. The taller brunette walked into the foyer and kept going straight, looking right at home in her surroundings. The New Yorker gave the room a curious once over, spotting a grand staircase leading upstairs in the far left end before exiting the foyer through another door.

"This would be a great house to play hide-and-seek in," Brittany commented as they passed through a sitting room that was bigger than Rachel's parents' entire home in New York.

Santana walked through a doorway and turned left, heading down a wide hallway that was lined with yet more doors. Rachel peeked into the ones that were open, and was sure she spotted Quinn's trophies in one. She made a mental note to ask to take a look at the room later if her host was alright with that.

The trio came upon a timber door with glass panels at the end of the hallway, which Santana pushed open to reveal an outdoor entertaining area that overlooked a large swimming pool. Rachel noted with interest that the driveway from the front of the house continued round the back here, before ending in a cul de sac. She was broken from her observations when Santana said, "There she is."

Rachel followed the Latina's gaze to Quinn, who was crouching amidst a sea of orange and yellow flowers in the distance. The bed of marigolds was shaded by a large tree, which to Rachel explained why the baseball cap on the blonde's head was turned backwards while her glove-clad hands worked the soil. The teenager kept her eyes on Quinn's profile as Santana led them through the fence that surrounded the entertainment area, drinking in the sight of the woman she had thought about constantly over the last few weeks. Her reaction to seeing Quinn like this, dressed in overalls that even from a distance looked dirty, was a clear giveaway of just how much she felt for the blonde.

A movement just beyond Quinn caught Rachel's eye and she saw a large white dog sitting up and looking at their small party with interest. '_Quinn never told me she had a direwolf_' was the first thought that crossed Rachel's mind, and she unconsciously slowed her pace. A bark alerted Rachel to the presence of another large dog, a massive black beast, standing just a few paces away from the white one, its coat camouflaged in the shadow of the tree. '_Make that two direwolves_' Rachel thought. Nothing Rachel had seen on Quinn's social media accounts had prepared her for how large the World No. 1's beloved pets were in real life.

Rachel's gaze drifted back to Quinn, who had turned her head to look at her dogs when both animals started to approach the newcomers. "What's up, guys?" she heard Quinn ask the pair when they were close to her, the blonde keeping her eyes on the two dogs as they walked past her.

And that's when Quinn noticed her guests. Rachel melted a little at how quickly the blonde's hazel eyes widened in surprise.

Rising quickly Quinn turned to fully face the newcomers, slipping the bright red wireless headphones off her head and onto her neck and distractedly dusting herself off. "Rach, Brit," she began, following her dogs to the trio, "what are you doing here?"

"Surprise!" Brittany said, throwing her arms around the shorter blonde when she was within touching distance.

Quinn locked eyes with Rachel over Brittany's shoulder, her expression still one of complete befuddlement. The brunette just smiled at her and shrugged, trying not to freak out when the two dogs sniffed at her legs while she waited her turn to embrace her friend. "Happy birthday, Quinn," she said moments later, standing on her tiptoes to hug the other woman and hoping Quinn couldn't feel her erratic heartbeat when their bodies made contact .

Quinn kept a hand on the brunette's arm when they pulled back. "I don't understand. Weren't you- Raja, Rani, that's enough!" she scolded her dogs, who immediately quit their overzealous sniffing of Rachel's knees. "I thought you were in Ohio! And you," she said, turning to Brittany, "are you seriously going to tell me that all of Santana's whining from two days ago about how she couldn't wait to see you on the weekend was all made up?"

"I wasn't whining," Santana defended herself, earning an eye roll from the birthday girl. "And hey, show some appreciation! I didn't _have_ to go through all this effort for your birthday, you know?"

Quinn softened at that. "Seriously? You guys are just here for my birthday?"

Hazel eyes met Rachel's, looking for confirmation. "We are," Rachel smiled, her heart still beating fast at being so close to Quinn again. "Santana organized it when we were in Istanbul," she added.

"Actually, she planned it when we were in Moscow," Brittany clarified.

Quinn walked up to Santana and wrapped her arms around the Latina, "You're the best San."

"Ain't that the truth," the Spaniard smiled, returning the embrace.

When Quinn pulled back she had a regretful look on her face. "But, you really should have told me. I wouldn't have made other plans if I knew you guys were coming..."

"What? But I thought-" Santana started, sounding confused. Even Rachel was worried, till she saw Quinn's poker-face crack and the mirth creep into her eyes. It wasn't long before Quinn was grinning from ear-to-hear, the happiness not fading even when Santana smacked her arm. "Bitch!"

"You had us there," Brittany laughed. "So, did you want a hand with the flowers?"

"Nah, I'm pretty much done for the day Brit," Quinn replied. "I just need to put the mower away," she added, nodding at the small ride-on mower sitting in the shade of the tree, "and call Elliot to tell him that I _will_ take my birthday off, like he suggested I should. And then we can do whatever it is you guys have planned for the day. Speaking of which, what _do_ you have planned?"

"Red's cooking a nice homemade birthday dinner, and that's about as far as the planning goes," Santana answered. "Was there anything in particular _you_ wanted to do?"

"Let's just go with the flow," Quinn said, eyes darting from Brittany before coming to rest on Rachel.

* * *

Going with the flow started with a leisurely walk around the massive property, where Rachel and Brittany marveled out loud at the perfectly manicured lawns and gardens. The teenager noted that their host seemed to take special pride in the vegetable patches, which were honestly more like mini-fields of healthy goodness, that separated the main house from the two guest cottages down the back.

Rachel had asked Quinn if she and Brittany would be staying in one of the cottages tonight, and Santana had replied before the blonde had the chance. "Ha! No way in hell! We're all partying in the main house tonight! Besides, I have my own room at Q's."

The New Yorker had turned to see Quinn's reaction, sure the Latina was kidding. "It's true, she does." Hazel eyes took on a mirthful shine, "She showed up with a small suitcase of stuff the day after I moved in and asked which one was her room."

Brittany let out an incredulous laugh, "Sanny! You didn't!"

"What?" Santana defended herself. "It's an eight-bedroom house! And I spend half my time here when we're in Miami anyway!"

The walk around the property was followed by a hit on the hard court at Quinn's, where Santana took a whole five minutes to work off the rust. It turned out the World No. 1 had a hard court and a clay court side-by-side, next to which was housed a state-of-the-art gym that Santana also frequented when she was in Miami.

A thought struck Rachel when the foursome were taking off their tennis shoes after the brief session. "Did you ever consider putting in a grass court too?"

"I did," Quinn replied, undoing her laces. She sat up a moment later, turning to face the brunette while taking the visor hat off her head, "But it didn't really make sense in the end. I spend enough time at home between tournaments to actually use these two courts but the small gap between the French and Wimbledon means I do almost all of my grass court prep at actual tournaments. And if I do need to do some grass court training, like in the lead up to the oh-nine Fed Cup quarters against Germany in Halle, then I go to the Fisher Island Hotel here in Biscayne Bay. It's like, twenty minutes away."

Rachel nodded. That made sense. Santana asked Quinn a question about lunch, and the blonde looked up to reply to the dark-skinned woman standing in front of her. Rachel's eyes caught a glimpse of a lone bead of sweat that was slowly making its way down the side of Quinn's neck, and she found all her senses focused on its downward trajectory.

In all of her years of playing tennis Rachel had never thought of human perspiration as sexy until she'd met Quinn Fabray. Seeing the World No. 1's glistening arms did funny things to Rachel's stomach and she thought she never looked better than when her damp bangs were matted to her forehead. And the scent of Quinn's sweat mixed with the strawberry smell that seemed to follow her everywhere she went... The brunette took a deep breath to inhale that very scent, subconsciously chewing on her lower lip as the glistening bead of water slowed down and finally came to a stop at the curve where Quinn's neck met her shoulder.

She was brought back to the present when Quinn turned to look at her when an expectant expression. "Does that sound ok?"

"Uh," Rachel said, realizing that she had absolutely no idea what she was being asked. "Ok?"

Fortunately for the brunette, Quinn had only been asking if she was ok to come for a drive with her to pick up some takeaway for lunch while Santana and Brittany stayed back to do something the Latina refused to tell Quinn about. "You better not just be having sex while we're gone," the blonde had half-heartedly warned the couple before putting her Range Rover into first gear and driving the car up the driveway.

The New Yorker watched her with interest for a moment. "I don't think I know anyone else my age, or thereabouts, that drives stick. I'm impressed."

Quinn glanced at her with a smile, reaching out to turn on the radio before putting both hands back on the wheel. "Thank you. My father insisted that Frannie and I both learned how to drive manual. Just in case we ever got jobs that required us to have a manual license."

Rachel matched her smile. "I think it's safe to say you won't ever actually need the skill for your line of work. Driving down the line is pretty different in tennis."

Quinn chuckled at the pun, and Rachel gave herself a mental pat on the back for drawing the throaty sound from the blonde. "Do you drive?" the older woman asked, glancing at her co-passenger from the corner of her eye.

Rachel shook her head. "No. But I do have a learner's license and have been driving with my parents these last few weeks. I'm hoping to pass my test next month."

"Manual?" Quinn asked.

Rachel shook her head, "Automatic. I'm not as brave as you."

"And I don't see you every working a job that requires a manual license either," Quinn quipped with a smile, glancing into her rearview mirror. "It's interesting, but a lot of my friends that grew up in the heart of New York don't have their drivers licenses," she commented while spinning the wheel to turn left. "Is it because public transport is so easily available?"

"Probably," Rachel agreed. "And also, traffic. It isn't uncommon for a twenty minute drive to turn into a two hour ordeal."

"Mmm. Traffic in Miami can be a nightmare too," Quinn said, coming to a halt at a red light. She turned to face Rachel, "But yeah, get your license. It'll give you more freedom when you're on tour too, and just want to go off and do your own thing."

"That's what Papa was saying too," the teenager said. "I think it's become his mantra while I've been here. Along with, '_You should look at real estate while you have time off, Rach_'.

Quinn shot her an interested look before putting the car in gear and moving forward. "I take it you aren't so keen on, and I'm just guessing here, moving out?"

"Your deduction would be correct," Rachel said, her eyes facing forwards.

"Do your parents _want_ you to move out?" Quinn questioned, curiosity lacing her tone.

Rachel let out a deep sigh. "I don't think they want me to move out, per se. It's more that they believe investing in property is a good idea. But I also think, and this time I'm the one that's guessing, that they'd like me to buy a place I could maybe see myself living in down the line."

The pair fell silent as Rachel waited to hear what Quinn thought of that. Finally Quinn spoke, "I used almost half of my winnings from my first Grand Slam title in oh-nine to buy a house."

This was news to Rachel. "I didn't know that" she said, her eyes now fixed on the driver of the car.

"Mm," Quinn said, bobbing her head up and down without looking at the brunette. "A nice five-bedroom waterfront house in Delray Beach. I stayed there for over a year with Mom and Frannie. Mom still lives there, and her boyfriend, Peter, moved in a month ago too."

"Is he the one you were telling me about in Cincinatti?" Rachel asked, the mention of Judy's boyfriend ringing a bell.

"You remember," Quinn said, sounding pleasantly surprised.

"I do," Rachel nodded, pleased with herself. "But maybe it's my young eighteen-year-old mind that remembers things better. Should I expect that to start changing at twenty-two?" she asked, all faux innocence.

"Oh hardy har har," Quinn said, with an eye roll. "You can save the old jokes for when I turn thirty. They don;t land as hard when you're the top ranked tennis player in the world."

"Touché, Fabray," Rachel said with a grin. She glanced at Quinn's arm as the blonde put the car into third gear and fought the urge to reach out and lay her hand on the sinewy forearm, the way Brittany had rested her hand on Santana's arm that morning. Clearing her throat, the brunette thought about what they had been discussing moments before. "So tell me, why did you buy the house?"

Quinn shrugged, "I wanted to spoil my family after everything I felt, and still feel like, they sacrificed to help get me to that position. I rented out a nice place for dad too, and then when I won the Australian Open six months later I bought him a condo too. My dad's more of an apartment kind of guy."

"Does he live in Miami too?" Rachel asked without thinking. She realized her mistake as soon as the words had left her mouth, and stumbled to fix it. "I, I mean, you know, before..."

Fortunately Quinn saved her from her misery. "It's ok Rach, I know what you mean. Yes, the condo's here, in Miami. In South Biscayne Boulevard."

The pair fell silent again. Quinn seemed focused on driving, and Rachel was afraid she would somehow put her foot in her mouth again. Again, it was the blonde that broke the silence. "He was happy to see me, you know, on Monday. As shocking as this might sound, prison has actually been good for him, in a way."

"Yeah?" Rachel asked, wanting Quinn to proceed, or not, at her own pace with this revelation.

"Yeah," the blonde replied. "He seemed less...tense? It's probably because he hasn't had a drink in months. Rehab, the prison edition," Quinn joked, lightening the weighted feeling that had set in within the confines of the car. "But yeah, he works in the prison library, so he's been reading a lot. He told me he'd started reading a Protestant Bible the week he started serving out his sentence and for a minute I was scared. Dad can be a little...extreme in some of his viewpoints, and you hear about people turning to God when they're incarcerated and yeah, I was afraid he was going to turn into a Bible-thumping fanatic before he was let out." Quinn paused here for a moment.

"But then he said he thought about how he and Mom used to have opposing viewpoints on their faith, so he figured he'd use this opportunity to understand where she was coming from by reading the King James Bible. And then, while he was at it, Dad decided to learn more about what might have prompted Frannie to turn to Buddhism, so he's currently reading the Tripitaka. And, and this is what really amazed me, he says he's going to read the Quran, Torah and the Bhagvad Gita next too," Quinn finished.

"Wow," Rachel said. "That's...pretty incredible. Is he reading them because he wants to learn about other faiths?"

Quinn nodded, "Yeah. He says he doesn't want to live a prejudiced life. I think he's come across a lot of men practicing different faiths in there too and, I don't know, maybe it's opened up his eyes to the world a little more?"

"Hmm," the teenager started, "does he know you're agnostic?"

"He does," Quinn said. "He's known for a few years now. He wasn't happy about it when I first told him but on Monday he said that maybe I was the one that had the right idea."

Rachel's eyebrows went up at that. "Wow," she repeated for the second time.

Quinn turned to look at her quickly. "I know right?" she smiled, eyebrows arched. "And you know what's really funny? Dad said he reads Paradise Lost for a bit of light reading when he's taking a break from the religious texts!"

Rachel joined the blonde as the pair laughed out loud. "I think that's the first and only time I'll ever hear someone call Paradise Lost light reading," she giggled.

"You're telling me!" Quinn chortled. The blonde pulled up across the street from a shop front that was painted bright yellow with the words 'Pizza Girls' prominently displayed on top. "Did you want to stay in the car while I run in and grab our order?"

"Sure," Rachel nodded. She watched Quinn climb out of the car, her gaze trailing down the blonde's form as she crossed the road. The birthday girl had stepped out of her overalls before they'd toured the grounds of her home; it turned out she was wearing a pair of short shorts and a torso-hugging singlet under her gardener's attire, and Rachel was beginning to realize that she found Quinn attractive in just about anything. She watched Quinn disappear into the shop and sat back, closing her eyes as she leaned her head against the headrest. '_Honestly, she could wear a chicken suit and I'd still think she was Hera come again_,' she thought.

All day the New Yorker had felt her gaze following the blonde around like a moth to a flame, and quite a few times she'd found herself looking straight back into hazel eyes. The lingering glances had been fuel to the fame of hope in Rachel's heart, and she found herself really believing that her affection might be returned; if nothing, there was certainly a spark between them. She had briefly considered just baring her heart in the car but in the end she'd decided she didn't want Quinn to be distracted when she brought it up. Rachel had waited this long, she could wait a few more hours. The nagging voice of doubt at the back of her mind that insisted she was imagining the shared looks and this was all really just one-sided had nothing to do with her putting the conversation off till later. No siree, Bob.

She opened her eyes when the car door was pulled open mere moments later. "That was fast," she said, glancing at the stacks of boxes Quinn was bearing in one hand and the two plastic bags she was carrying with the other one.

"The order was ready and I'd paid over the phone," Quinn offered as explanation. "Would you might holding on to the pizzas? I can pop the bags in back."

Rachel nodded, reaching out for the pizzas as she did. Quinn passed her the four boxes, put the bags in foot area of the backseat and climbed into the car. "Are we expecting the entire armed forces for lunch?" Rachel asked while Quinn buckled herself in.

The blonde laughed. "You have seen Santana eat, right?"

Rachel grinned and inclined her head, conceding the point. Her phone beeped, and she pulled it out of the pocket of her dress. It was a text from Santana informing her that Finn and Marley had arrived with the balloons and the whole place was set up for Quinn's impromptu party, so it was safe to bring Quinn back home now. She also said that Frannie had rung to say she wasn't able to get in touch with Quinn because the younger Fabray wasn't picking up her phone.

Rachel quickly typed out a reply letting the Latina know they were on their way back and pocketed her phone. "Your sister called Santana to say you aren't answering your phone," she told Quinn.

"Oops! I forgot it was still on silent. Would you mind seeing if she texted? My phone's in the dashboard," Quinn said, nodding her head at the spot she was talking about.

Rachel opened the small compartment before her and saw two phones, one with a red case and one with a black one. "Which one?" she asked, her hand hovering over the two devices.

"Red," Quinn replied while changing lanes.

Rachel pressed the home button and the screen lit up while still locked. "You have three missed called from Francine, but no text messages."

"Mmm, ok. Would you mind checking the other phone too? In case she texted me on there?" the blonde requested.

"Sure," Rachel said, replacing the phone in her hand and picking up the black one. Her eyes widened as soon as she pressed the home button. "Uh, Quinn...you have one-hundred-and-twenty-four messages here, and forty-two missed calls. I can't tell if any of them are from Francine unless I unlock the phone."

Quinn didn't seem the least bit phased by the number of attempts people had made to contact her. "Yeah, I get a lot of calls and messages on that number on my birthday and when I win a major."

"Ah," Rachel nodded. "And the other one's a more private number, is it?"

"Yeah," Quinn said. "Only my family and closest friends have that one. Thanks for checking Rach, I'll just ring Fran back when we get home."

The knowledge that she had both numbers made something swell in Rachel's chest. She wasn't even sure if Brittany had Quinn's other number. "So, I know we've digressed from the conversation a bit but earlier, were you suggesting that I buy a house too?" she asked, replacing the phone and closing the glove compartment.

"Oh no," Quinn said quickly. "That's just what _I_ did. But I think your situation is different. From what I understand your parents already have a lovely apartment in a nice part of New York. My beginnings were," she paused here, looking for the right word. "...humbler, so I think it was sort of natural for me to want to buy us nice things as soon as I could really afford to. I mean, when we moved to Miami we lived in a small townhouse an hour away from where I trained, with this tiny patch of concrete in the back that passed for the backyard. Do you get what I mean?"

"I do," Rachel nodded.

"On the other hand Santana moved her family here when she won her first major. She put the money in the bank and got the paperwork together to prove that she could afford to look after them. She didn't actually buy her own place till she won her second French. So yeah, everyone does different things with their money," Quinn explained. "The one thing I will recommend is that you invest your money in _something_. It's better than just having it sit there in the bank."

"I _have_ been investing portions of my money," Rachel replied. "Jesse's very good at bringing me plenty of options and some are already starting to pay dividends. But yes, I do have a fair bit that I've just put into my savings account. And Daddy and Papa seem to think I would be better off tying it up in property."

"Hmm," Quinn said, and Rachel could see a thoughtful look play upon her features. "Have you ever considered," she started slowly, "buying property outside of New York?"

"Not really," Rachel said. "I mean, I don't ever want to live anywhere else in the world, so..."

"Sure, I get that. But, you think your parents want you to buy a house to move into, which you don't seem to want to even start thinking about right now. Hiram and Leroy want you to invest your money in property, which to be fair is usually the soundest investment you can make if you buy the right property in the right place. So maybe buying property outside of New York could be a compromise all of you would be ok with," Quinn reasoned. "A family holiday home, perhaps?"

"I never actually considered that," Rachel said, mulling over the idea. "It might work."

"I'm full of wisdom," Quinn grinned.

"And modesty," Rachel replied drily, earning another husky laugh as a reward.

"Santana and I actually co-invested in a three-bedroom apartment in Paris together early last year," the blonde revealed. "Its in the seventh arrondissement of La Rive Gauche."

"Why Paris?" Rachel asked, although she suspected that she already knew the answer.

"Because we know we're definitely going to be there once a year. And its very easy to rent out when we don't need the place, which makes it a great investment," Quinn said. "Frannie lived there when she interned in Paris."

"And you have an apartment in New York," Rachel observed, marveling at all the homes Quinn had amassed in such a short amount of time.

"That's Frannie's," Quinn said. "The only homes I have under my name are the apartment in Paris and the one I live in here in Miami."

Rachel was silent for a few beats. "I have always liked London... and I will be there every year for Wimbledon. And god knows that rent rates in that city are ridiculous..." she contemplated out loud.

"Hey, don't do it just because I think it's a good idea. Think about it, discuss it with your usual advisors and the people that look after your investments. Weigh up the pros and cons from your perspective. What works for me might not necessarily work for you, or anyone else," Quinn pointed out.

"I will, oh wise one," Rachel smiled. "Thank you for the suggestion."

Quinn shrugged off her thanks. "Here's an easier question for you – what car will you buy yourself when you get your license?"

* * *

"Surprised, Q?" Santana asked with a grin, taking a quick picture of the blonde's dumbfounded expression with her phone.

The blonde returned Finn and then Marley's hugs. "How did you guys do all this in an hour?" she asked, looking around in wonder at the room full of balloons, streamers and the large banner that boldly stated 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY QUINNIE'.

"Don't you worry about that!" Santana grinned, clearly pleased with herself. "Just enjoy your big day."

"Thank you, San" Quinn smiled, looking like she was about to tear up. She wrapped her Spanish friend in a tight embrace, muttering something inaudible to Rachel's ears.

"Aww, I love you too, Q" Santana said, before stepping back.

"Thank you all," Quinn said, looking around at everyone. "I have the best friends a girl could as for. I mean, you guys came all the way here just for me," she said, her gaze coming to a stop on Rachel. The teenager felt her heart skip a beat when the blonde reached out to hold her hand. "I feel so special. So...loved."

Quinn gave Rachel's hand a squeeze as she said the words, not letting go after. She turned to look at the rest of her guests, but Rachel kept her eyes on the birthday girl. She wondered if Quinn knew just how loved she really was.


	40. Chapter 40

**Hello everyone! I'm back! And I come bearing a new update! The chapter was actually ready yesterday, but for some reason the website refused to let me upload it to my Doc Manager from my computer. So now I'm using my wife's PC (thanks hun!) to present you folks with Chapter 40 (aka 39B). But first, some housekeeping notes-**

**Thank you a million times over to everyone that has ever followed/favourited myself or my story. It's always wonderful to get those alerts. Thank you as well to everyone that has left me feedback. It is always interesting to hear your thoughts (yes, even the ones I don't agree with.) As most of you will know, I personally reply to the feedback I get (when I can) to thank you, so allow me to use this space to thank the people that have left me reviews as Guests. One of you asked if Red was the OITNB character, and I thought I should tell you that yes, she is. The choice was a conscious one - I like it when people can visualise the story, so I thought Red was the right option for this particular character.**

**With regards to this update, well, all I can say is that I hope you like it. As usual, all grammatical and spelling mistakes are mine, so feel free to point them out so I can patch them up. On that note, here ya go!**

Rachel heard Quinn as soon as she opened the door to exit her room. "No alcohol till you're out of the pool."

"But Q," she heard Santana protest amidst sounds of splashing water.

"San, you know the rules. If you want a drink so bad then get out of the water and stay out," Quinn said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

"You're no fun," the Spaniard complained.

"And you're a pain in the butt," Quinn shot back, making Rachel smile as she made her way to the timber door that led to the outdoor pool area. The brunette pushed the door open and stopped in her tracks when she came face-to-face with Quinn, who appeared to be heading inside, Raja and Rani by her side.

Rachel's brain short-circuited at the sight of the woman currently dressed in a light blue bikini top and short grey board shorts. Her eyes took on a mind of their own and immediately honed in on the tanned torso in front of her. Her gaze drifted up to the swell of breasts sitting above the toned stomach, and Rachel swallowed her now parched throat. Realizing she was staring, the teenager quickly looked up to meet equally shocked hazel eyes.

"Hey," Quinn said, in a shaky voice.

The tremor in the blonde's voice gave Rachel a boost of confidence and she stood taller in her own bikini and sarong. "Hello again, Quinn. Going inside?"

Quinn seemed to gather her bearings. "Yeah. I figured I'd make some punch or something for after we've had our swim." She raised her voice, her back still to the pool, "I think Santana might throw a hissy fit if I don't have a drink ready for her when she gets out of the water."

She shrieked when the Spaniard flung some water at her from the pool, turning to glare at the smirking Latina. "Careful, or all you're getting is Dr. Pepper."

"Gross, I hate Dr. Pepper," Santana said, moving to float on her back beside Marley.

"I know," Quinn threw back.

"Now, now children, play nice," Brittany called out from where she was sunbathing in a deck chair, her head angled towards towards the late afternoon sun.

"Need a hand with the drinks?" Rachel offered her hostess.

"Sure," Quinn smiled, and Rachel stepped out of the way to let the other woman lead the way back inside. The dogs went to follow Quinn inside but she turned and stated "Stay" in a commanding voice. The canines must have understood the order because they went off towards a shady spot while Quinn continued onwards.

"I've been meaning to ask," Rachel said, one step behind Quinn, "but what do your dogs' names mean?"

"Raja is Hindi for King, and Rani is Hindi for Queen," the blonde replied over her shoulder. She exited the hallway and into the sitting room, where she slowed down so Rachel could walk by her side. "I thought it was fitting since, to me, they look like black and white chess pieces."

"That they do," Rachel agreed. "They're beautiful."

"Thank you," Quinn smiled. "So, what's your drink of choice? Alcohol wise," she clarified.

Rachel shrugged, her eyes darting across the room that was half-filled with the flower deliveries and gift baskets that had been arriving through the day. "I haven't had that much to drink besides wine to be honest, seeing that I'm still not old enough to drink in this country. But so far I'd say I prefer sweet drinks. Maybe Malibu?"

"We can work with Malibu," Quinn smiled as they walked into the foyer and through to a games room just off it.

A pool table stood at the center of the room, drawing Rachel's attention. "Do you play much?" Rachel asked, gesturing towards the wooden table covered in a deep blue felt material.

"I wouldn't call it playing," Quinn said self-deprecatingly, making her way to the bar in the corner of the room. "Failing miserably is a better description of my pool skills, or lack thereof. Santana's a shark though, and so is Fran." She walked to the back of the bar and crouched down to peruse the shelves below the countertop. "Do you play?"

Rachel stopped at the entryway to the bar, keeping her eyes on the blonde. "My parents bought a snooker table when I was seven and we've had it ever since. So I'm not terrible."

"You can challenge Santana to a game later if you'd like," Quinn said, moving a few bottles around so the sound of clinking glass filled the air. She pulled out a bottle of Malibu Rum and put it on the bar top. "There we go. Mmm, what else..."

Rachel watched as Quinn added a bottle of Asombroso Gran Reserva Extra Añejo to the countertop. "Santana will be happy with that," Quinn said, almost to herself, "and I'm pretty sure Marley is a beer girl..." The blonde looked up at Rachel, "I have plenty of beer in the fridge so I won't grab anymore just yet. Do you know what Brittany likes?"

"Red wine" Rachel answered immediately. She'd known the blonde long enough to know how much the Englishwoman loved a good drop of red. "Merlot, to be precise."

"Ah, ok, that's easy," Quinn said, standing up and grabbing the two bottles she'd pulled out. "The wine is in the cellar."

"Of course it is," Rachel said, earning an inquisitive look from Quinn. "This house is ginormous. Beautiful, but _ginormous_."

"Is that a bad thing?" Quinn asked, genuinely curious.

Rachel shook her head. "No, I'm probably just a little envious of your amazing home. And by a little I mean a lot."

Quinn laughed and set off in the opposite direction from where they had come when they reentered the foyer. "Well, you could probably buy yourself an equally amazing home if you did as your parents suggested."

"I'll admit, I'm a lot more tempted to buy a home now than I was at the start of today," Rachel said, only half-joking.

Her nose gave Rachel an indication of where Quinn was leading her before they entered the actual room. "And you have a professional-grade kitchen too," Rachel commented drily when they walked through the door. "How surprising." She rolled her eyes so Quinn could see she was kidding. "God, it smells great in here."

Quinn came to a stop at the large granite island bench that filled most of the middle of the room, putting the bottles there. "Red's cooking her special borscht," she said, nodding her head at the large saucepan simmering away on the stovetop. "She's a fantastic cook."

"Yeah, Santana said when we were driving here this morning," Rachel said. "She was practically salivating at the idea of what Red would cook tonight. I can see why, and I haven't even tried the borscht yet."

Quinn smiled, then pointed behind Rachel. "Could you please pass me the punch bowl? It's in the closet behind you. The one on top."

Rachel did as asked, passing Quinn the large glass bowl she found front and center on the shelf. "That's pretty," she commented as the bowl changed hands.

"It is," Quinn agreed. "It used to belong to my grandma, my Mom's mom. She brought it with her when she moved here from Somerset after the Second World War."

"Wow," Rachel said, genuinely amazed at the history of the object Quinn was now emptying the entire bottle of Malibu into. "Uh, Quinn, I'm not going to drink that all by myself..."

The blonde chuckled as she let the last drops of the clear alcohol fall into the bowl. "Malibu punch is a popular choice, Berry. Trust me, you'll be lucky if you get two glasses before it's all gone."

Quinn turned around to put the bottle into the bin and made her way to the fridge. Rachel took the opportunity to run an appreciative gaze over Quinn's back, her eyes feasting on the strong shoulders and sinewy muscles that rippled lightly as she opened the fridge door and stopped to look for something. Her heart skipped in nervous excitement at the notion this woman, this gorgeous specimen of a human female, reciprocated her romantic feelings. Rachel had caught the looks Quinn had been darting her way today and was feeling rather confident that she wouldn't be turned down. The only question was when, and how, to bring it up.

Quinn turned around with a large bottle of pineapple juice in her hand, letting the fridge door close behind her. Rachel must have had a contemplative look on her face because the blonde arched an eyebrow at her as she made her way back to the bench. "Penny for your thoughts."

'_Now, now!_' Rachel's mind screamed at her. '_She's asking, just tell her!_'

Instead she said "Uh... I was just wondering where your wine cellar was." Inside, Rachel face palmed.

"I'll show you," Quinn said, unsealing and unscrewing the lid of the bottle of juice before pouring all its contents into the bowl. "Let me just prep this amazing punch first."

"What can I do to help?" Rachel asked.

For the next ten minutes the two tennis players worked together to slice up oranges and lemons, create a spice mix with boiling water and make some sugar syrup before they mixed everything together in the glass bowl and put it in the fridge to cool.

"And now to the cellar," Quinn said, turning to a large door that Rachel had assumed led to a walk-in storeroom. "It's pretty cold in there, are you sure you want to come in?" Rachel nodded. "Ok, but don't say I didn't warn you," Quinn joked.

The cold air hit Rachel as soon as the door was opened, and her curious eyes took in the flight of stairs that headed downwards. Quinn flicked a switch just inside the door, lighting up the stairs they needed to descend. "How cold is it in here?" Rachel asked, the hairs on her arms rising at the change in temperature.

"55 degrees" Quinn said, reaching the bottom of the stairs.

Rachel joined her and looked around the small room, which was lined with floor-to-ceiling wine racks on three sides. While the racks weren't all full, Rachel was definitely impressed by the collection of wine on display. Quinn must have sensed her amazement because she said, "I like to buy a couple of bottles everywhere I go."

"This is amazing," Rachel said, walking closer to inspect some of the bottles. "My knowledge of wine-buying pretty much begins and ends with Daddy's advice that you always buy a bottle with a deep punt."

Quinn turned to Rachel, her hazel eyes looking almost yellow in the light of the cellar, and laughed. "And why is that?"

"He says the quality of wine in bottles with deep punts is generally better," Rachel replied. "Although I'm not sure that's necessarily true."

"I _have_ noticed that the more expensive wines have deeper punts so who knows, he might be right," Quinn said, turning her head and running a finger along some of the bottles. "I know that bottles with deeper kick-ups travel better. Something about increased stability or something."

Rachel had stopped listening to Quinn midway through her explanation because she'd noticed that the blonde's nipples were standing at attention in the cold cellar. And the sight of the two pointed peaks and the goose bumps on the swell of Quinn's breasts was doing funny things to Rachel's belly. She tried to blink away the sudden burst of arousal that was coursing through her veins, grateful the blonde's attention was currently on the wine.

'_But why fight it?_' her mind asked. '_You think she likes you too, so why not just go for it?_'

'_Because she isn't a randy teenaged boy with no self-control'_, the sensible part of Rachel's mind argued with its Gemini twin. The teenager wasn't completely sure rational-Rachel was right; her fingers itched from wanting to touch Quinn. And oh, how she longed to kiss her!

'_You could do that now_," spontaneous-Rachel egged her on like the proverbial devil on her shoulder.

'_Not till you've spoken to her_,' rational-Rachel counseled.

With a start she realized Quinn was now facing her, holding a bottle of wine in each hand. She looked concerned. "Rachel?"

"Yes?" Rachel blinked, coming back to the present and internally congratulating herself for getting that one word out.

"I've said your name a few times now," Quinn said, stepping closer and intently peering at the teenager's face. "Are you ok? Is the cold too much? I've got the wine, we can head-"

"We need to talk," Rachel said, speaking before she actually stopped to think.

"What about?" Quinn asked, a worried frown creasing her brows.

"I-," Rachel started, but stopped abruptly when she heard a clatter from the kitchen upstairs. "What was that?"

"Probably Red," Quinn said, her gaze not leaving Rachel's. "What do we need to talk about?"

There was the sound of footsteps, closer this time, and then Red called out, "Quinn? Is that you?"

Quinn let out a quiet huff of breath, clearly not appreciating the interruption. "Yes, Red. I'm getting some drinks."

"A delivery man just brought some tulips. The living room is beginning to look like the Keukenhof Gardens," came the call from upstairs.

Rachel could hear Red's footsteps retreat, but the moment was gone. "Let's talk later," Rachel said, not unkindly. She turned to walk back up the stairs but Quinn transferred both bottles of wine to one hand, holding them by their necks, and reached out to stop the brunette with her free hand.

"No, we can talk now, if you'd like? Is something wrong?" she asked, her hand resting on Rachel's forearm.

The New Yorker was touched by the concern she saw etched on her features, and wanted to allay her fears. "Nothing's wrong," she assured the birthday girl. "I promise, I'll tell you later."

Quinn didn't seem convinced but she didn't push the subject. "Ok," she said, dropping her hand and letting Rachel lead the way upstairs.

Rachel appreciated the space Quinn was giving her but she couldn't ignore the sudden awkwardness that had settled between them as they ascended the stairs. Red was at the stovetop, stirring the borscht, and she stared at the pair over the top of her glasses when they reentered the kitchen. The brunette would be lying if she said she wasn't grateful for the presence of a third person right then.

She was racking her brains for something clever to say to ease the tension in the air when Quinn beat her to it. "Red, Red?" she offered as she opened a drawer and pulled out a corkscrew. Rachel turned to smile at the blonde, and received a warm smile in return.

"Ha ha" Red said drily, "I have _never_ heard that vun before."

Quinn twisted the corkscrew into the top of one bottle. "I'm just going to leave these here to breathe for a bit but really, feel free to pour yourself a glass if you'd like. There's some punch in the fridge too."

"Vot sort of punch?" the cook asked, stirring the ingredients in the dish.

"Malibu and pineapple," Quinn said, expertly uncorking the bottle, which let out a little pop, and then setting to work on the second one.

"Ugh, too sveet," Red said, making a face.

"Well, you know where the vodka is," Quinn replied, her eyes on the bottle before her.

"Now vee are talking," Red smiled. "But first, I go vok." She turned to look at Rachel, "You live vith athlete and you learn to be healthy too." She replaced the lid on the saucepan and addressed Quinn. "Make sure Santana does not come and steal a bite vhile I am out." Quinn nodded as the cork came off the bottle on the island bench.

"The borscht smells really great," Rachel complimented the redhead.

"Vait till you eat it," Red smiled confidently. "You vill be licking the plate."

"We're not all like Santana, Red," Quinn joked.

* * *

The blonde's words echoed in Rachel's head a couple of hours later as she used some fresh black bread to sop up the last of the red soup. True to form Santana had indeed licked up every last drop of the Russian dish and was leaning back in her chair with a look of absolute contentment on her features.

"I say it again," Francine Fabray said, tilting her bowl to spoon out the last of her soup, "there's a job for you at Cheerio if you'd like it, Red."

Quinn laughed from her place beside her sister. "We're a French restaurant, Fran."

The World No. 1 had been surprised when her sister, who was supposed to be in New York, had turned up just before dinner along with their mother and Judy's partner Peter to join the youngest Fabray's birthday celebrations. It had earned the mastermind behind the day, Santana, another big hug from the birthday girl. The other Fabray sister was only sticking around for dinner before she flew back to the city she now called home, so Quinn was staying close to her sibling through dinner.

Francine ignored her famous sister and addressed Red directly. "We'd make an exception for you, Red."

"Hey now," Santana spoke up, "I've already offered Red a job on my entourage, as my personal chef. If she's switching jobs, that's the one she's taking."

"Spasibo," Red grinned, "but I am happy vhere I am." She rose from her seat, "Now, if you vill excuse me, I have vurk to finish," she added, starting to collect everyone's used dinner plates and bowls.

"Let me help," Brittany offered, and Rachel, Marley and Finn stood beside her.

"Thank you," Red said, giving the quartet an appreciative nod of the head.

Santana stood up with an exaggerated sigh, "I guess I should pull my weight too." Quinn started to rise as well but Santana stopped her by raising a palm in her direction. "You stay where you are, Q. Hang out with your family while we help Red tidy up."

"But I'm going to see them tomorrow," Quinn pointed out.

"Quinn, it's your birthday. Just sit back and enjoy it," Santana stated, ending the discussion. The Spaniard picked up the last of the serving dishes and headed off to the kitchen with the others.

It didn't take long for the five of them to rinse the plates, stack the dishwasher, hand wash the serving dishes that weren't dishwasher safe and wipe down the kitchen while Red packed away the leftovers and put them in the fridge. When they were done, Santana turned to the older woman. "Do you know where Judy put the cake?"

"I vill bring it. You just svitch off the lights when I give you the signal," Red said, shooing the four tennis players and one football star out of the now clean kitchen.

The "signal" turned out to be an exaggerated sneeze, and Red and Santana pulled everything off like a well-oiled machine. Quinn's eyes lit up at the sight of the humongous chocolate cake, which Judy had baked herself. The gooey concoction of milk, dark and white chocolate tasted as good as it looked, and Rachel was practically ready to slip into a food coma by the time the dessert dishes and cutlery had been added to the dishwasher.

The other people lounging around the living room seemed to be in a similar state when Rachel rejoined them after a quick detour to what was to be her bedroom for the night. Santana, who was now dressed in a giraffe onesie, was lying on the sofa with her head in Brittany's sweats-clad lap, and Francine looked comfortable where she was sat on a lazy boy, nursing a glass of wine.

"That punch was amazing," Santana said, her eyes closed as Brittany ran her fingers through her girlfriend's dark hair. The Spaniard sounded drowsy, and Rachel wasn't sure if the fatigue of the day had caught up or Santana was just buzzed from all the punch and tequila she'd seen her consume. Not that she was really one to speak – Rachel had downed a couple of shots herself to go with the two glasses of punch she'd enjoyed after their swim and the two glasses of wine she'd had with dinner, and she was definitely feeling a little lightheaded. Thankfully she still felt in total control of herself and no one else had turned into a drunken mess either.

"Where are the rest?" Rachel asked, coming to a stop beside the sofa.

Brittany looked up at her with sleepy eyes. "In the games room, I think. Finn and Peter wanted to have a game of pool."

Rachel could hear the sounds of the game being played before she entered the room, and stopped near the doorway to watch Marley miss pocketing a ball by a long way. "This _definitely_ isn't my game," the brunette smiled up at her boyfriend, passing him the cue stick.

"Yeah, I think we've been hustled," the football player said, grinning down at her.

The foursome looked up when Rachel walked further into the room. "Who's winning?" she asked, glancing down at the table that currently had a lot more solids on it than it did stripes.

Finn bobbed his head towards Judy and Peter, then said in a stage whisper, "I think they've been practicing."

"And I thought you would be a better shot than the rest of us, seeing how you're the only one that hasn't had a drink," Peter joked back in a strong Irish accent. It was true, Finn was the only one who hadn't had a drink that wasn't water or juice that evening; apparently he didn't touch alcohol in the couple of days leading to a game.

Finn shook his head with a wry smile, "I think alcohol might have actually improved my game." Peter just grinned at him before bending down and sinking another striped ball, leaving just the black eight ball for him and Judy to pot.

Rachel ran a quick gaze around the room and was unable to spot what, or rather _whom_, she was looking for. "Where's Quinn?" she asked, her hand reaching into the pocket of her hoodie to run over the small box she had in there.

"By the pool," Judy answered. "She said she wanted to look at something and off she went. I wish she'd taken her jumper with her. It's a bit cold out tonight."

"I'll take it to her," Rachel offered, collecting the blue Nike hoodie up from the stool Quinn had left it on and making her way to the outdoor entertaining area.

It took the brunette a moment to adjust to the darkness outside when she stepped past the open timber door, and a further few seconds to catch sight of Quinn reclining in one of the deck chairs. The blonde had her head tilted back, staring at the sky, even as she held a glass of wine in her hand.

At first Rachel approached her slowly, so as not to startle her fellow tennis player, but a few steps in she realized it was probably better to make her presence known sooner rather than later. It still didn't stop Quinn from doing a small jump in her seat when Rachel said her name. "What are you doing out here?" Rachel asked, moving closer to where the blonde was sat.

Quinn stared up at her, and even in the relative darkness Rachel could spot the sheepish look on her face. "The International Space Station is going to fly over at six minutes past eight. It's a clear night, so visibility should be good."

Rachel couldn't help but smile fondly as she asked, "And how do you know this?" She passed the hoodie to the blonde, who accepted it gratefully, before sitting down in the deck chair next to Quinn's.

"I receive alerts on my phone," Quinn answered simply, placing her wine glass on the ground beside her and slipping the hoodie over her head. "Thanks for bringing this out."

"No problem," Rachel replied, also leaning back to stare at the sky. "So, which way are we looking?"

"It's meant to appear from the north-northwest, which is about there," Quinn replied, pointing towards a spot in the sky, "and disappear approximately east-southeast. It should be visible for about three minutes."

Rachel glanced at her wristwatch. "Eight-oh-six, did you say?" Quinn nodded. "That's under thirty seconds away. Is the space station usually on time?"

"Yeah," Quinn said, looking skywards again. "I don't think the astronauts on board have to face the same traffic issues we do," she joked, before narrowing her eyes. "I think I see- yup, that's definitely it."

Rachel followed her gaze to where, sure enough, what seemed like a quickly moving bright star had come into view. "Wow," Rachel breathed out, in awe of what she was looking at.

Quinn turned her head to shoot the brunette a quick look. "Is this your first time seeing it?"

"Mm hmm," Rachel nodded. I didn't even know you _could_ see it from earth."

The pair fell silent, watching the ISS make its trajectory across the sky. "Pretty cool, isn't it? To think there's people on there," Quinn said.

"Definitely," Rachel agreed.

"I have my notifications set so I get alerts about the ISS even when I'm not here in Miami. So I've seen it from quite a few different places across the globe," Quinn said. "Apparently the light we're seeing is sunrays reflecting off the ISS. That's why it shines so bright, like a star."

Rachel laughed, turned her head to look at the blonde. "I love how nerdy you are sometimes." Quinn turned red at her words, and Rachel quickly jumped to make sure her friend knew it was a compliment. "It's a good thing, I swear. You're just, so not the stereotypical dumb jock."

"Thanks, I think?" Quinn said with a roll of her eyes. "Although I'll have you know that tennis players are actually a very smart breed. Asami has a higher IQ than Einstein, Kitty speaks five languages fluently and Dani is a classically trained pianist, just to name a few off the top of my head."

"Touché," Rachel acknowledged, before looking back at the ISS as it started to disappear from view. When it was gone she looked back at her friend, only to realize Quinn was already watching her. "You'll have to tell me how to get those alerts on my phone too."

Quinn nodded. "Ready to go back inside?" she asked, starting to lean to her side to pick up her wineglass.

"No, wait!" Rachel said, also leaning forward and swinging her legs over the deck chair. Quinn frowned in confusion but did as she was asked, mimicking Rachel by planting her feet on the tiled ground so the two women were now facing one another. Rachel reached into the kangaroo pouch at the front of her hoodie and pulled out the small box in there. "I got you a birthday present," she explained, handing over the giftwrapped box.

The line between Quinn's brows disappeared as she took the gift from Rachel's hands. "Can I open it now?" she asked, and pulled at the ribbon to undo the bow around the box when Rachel nodded.

The brunette watched anxiously as Quinn ripped the giftwrap apart to reveal the square velvet jewelry box inside. She received a curious glance from the birthday girl, who tossed the wrapping and ribbon beside her before she unclasped the lid and opened the box. A wave of relief coursed through Rachel when Quinn let out a happy gasp upon seeing its contents.

"Rachel!" Quinn said, staring down at the delicate white gold chain and pendant. "You shouldn't have!"

"Do you like it?" Rachel asked hopefully, even though the answer was already evident.

"Do I like it? I love it!" Quinn grinned, pulling the necklace free from its housing and staring at it in fascination. "I mean, it's the Deathly Hallows! But really, you shouldn't have," she said sincerely.

Rachel let out a little grunt and have a little wave of the hand. "It's no big deal. I saw it in the window of a jewelry store in Brooklyn and thought it was the perfect present for a Potter nut like yourself."

"It _is_ a big deal," Quinn countered. "Thank you." She unclasped the necklace and put it around her neck. "Would you mind fastening it for me?" she requested, leaning forward and bending her head slightly.

"Sure," Rachel said, letting out an unsteady breath as she took the ends of the necklace from Quinn's fingers. Again the scent of strawberries hit her nose as she stared down at the back of the blonde's neck, and it took her slightly longer than it should have to complete the simple task. "Done," she said, letting the chain drop against Quinn's neck as she backed away.

The blonde gave the necklace a little tug as she too leaned back, before smiling and reaching out to take Rachel's hand. "It really is a thoughtful present."

All of Rachel's senses seemed to zone in on the feel of the deceptively soft hands grasping her own. "I checked with Santana before I bought it. Just to, you know, make sure you didn't already have one," she rambled. "You could also take the pendant off and use it as a charm on a charm bracelet, if you have one."

Quinn didn't say anything but responded with a bob of her head and a squeeze of Rachel's hands. A silence fell between them, one that felt heavy with expectation. Rachel stared back at hazel eyes that seemed to search her own and her heartbeat picked up to such a fast pace that she was sure Quinn had to be able to hear it. Time slowed, and as it did the nervous teenager's resolve grew stronger.

"Quinn," she whispered in a voice that she barely recognized as her own. "I'm going to do something now, but you can stop me if you like, ok?"

The blonde's eyes took on a determined sheen of their own. "Ok."

Rachel started to lean forward, the butterflies now doing the tango in her stomach. She could feel the perspiration staring to build on her palms and wondered if Quinn could feel the sweat there too. If she could, the blonde was hiding it well. She kept her eyes on Rachel's as brown moved closer and closer to hazel. With mere centimeters between them Rachel darted out her tongue to wet her dry lips. The action caught Quinn's attention, and she briefly glanced down at said lips before meeting Rachel's eyes again.

The brunette paused inches from Quinn's face. "Do you want me to stop?" she asked, checking one last time before she committed to an action she could never undo.

Instead of answering her Quinn let go of one of her hands and brought her now free hand to cup the younger woman's cheek. With a slight tug she pulled Rachel's face forward the remaining distance, and brought their lips together.

Rachel had heard the clichés about life altering first kisses that led to ringing bells, singing angels and the sound of a thousand violins playing in perfect harmony in your head, but this kiss didn't make so much as a peep in the brunette's head. Instead, everything else seemed to fade into the background so all Rachel really knew was the pressure of soft lips against her own. Her eyes fluttered shut as she relished the feeling. The kiss was gentle, innocent even. Just lips against lips, unmoving, unyielding. But it lit a wild fire inside the New Yorker.

Letting out a breath she didn't even realize she was holding through her nose, Rachel pulled back slightly before surging forward again, this kiss just as chaste as the last one. Quinn's hand slipped from her cheek to the back of her neck, her fingers leaving a fiery touch on the skin there.

It was the blonde who changed the dynamics of the kiss when she parted her lips to lightly suck on Rachel's bottom lip. The move caused Rachel to let out a low moan that sounded so foreign to her ears that even she was surprised the sound had come from her. She could feel Quinn smile at the reaction she had elicited, the blonde nipping her bottom lip before turning her attention to the one on top.

When breathing through her nose became too hard Rachel pulled back slightly, still clutching one of Quinn's hands for dear life. The two women regarded one another, Rachel melting at the almost shy look she received from the blonde. Then it was her turn to blush when the World No. 1 reverently tucked a strand of dark hair behind her own ear and left her hand there to run soft circles over her cheek with her thumb.

"As much as I love the necklace," Quinn husked out, "I have to say it's only my second favourite present today."

Rachel smiled bashfully, but didn't take her eyes from the other woman's. "Not to sound selfish, but I hope I'm the only one getting return presents at this party."

Quinn let out a chuckle and began to move forward to reclaim Rachel's lips when someone cleared their throat to alert the pair to their presence. The brunette jumped back as if burned, putting some distance between herself and Quinn. Her heart sank at the wounded look Quinn gave her before she turned to look at the newcomer.

"Sorry to interrupt," Francine said, and her tone indicated that she really meant it, "but I'm leaving in fifteen minutes. Can't miss my flight, you know" she half-laughed, probably in an attempt to lighten the suddenly tense mood. It didn't work. "Uh, Mom and Peter are dropping me to the airport, so they'll be leaving too. So, uh, yeah, that's what I came to say. I'll just go back inside now..." she finished, turning on her heel and scurrying away.

There was silence again as Quinn and Rachel turned to one another. "Quinn-" Rachel started, an apology on her lips, but it was cut short by her host.

"I really like you Rachel," Quinn said, and the brunette's heart gave an optimistic leap. "I have for a while. And I'm pretty sure you like me too. But," and this is where a feeling of dread replaced the optimism, "it's not as simple as that, given the lives we lead."

"What do you mean?" Rachel asked, wanting to reach out and take Quinn's hand again but believing the gesture would be unwelcome right now.

"I mean we lead public lives, so if we dated it couldn't be a hush-hush affair," Quinn stated. "I wouldn't _want_ it to be a hush-hush affair. Would you?"

Rachel was at a loss for words. She hadn't actually thought that far ahead. She'd been so caught up wondering if her feelings for Quinn were reciprocated that she hadn't though about how she would approach an actual relationship with the other woman.

The brunette had seen the extra scrutiny Santana and Brittany had faced from fans and the media alike when they'd gone public with their relationship, and this was despite knowing beforehand that the Latina was a lesbian. The media circus if she and Quinn were to come out as a couple would be at least twice as crazy. Despite what Rachel has said at the conference in Moscow, she wasn't sure if she was strong enough, and _brave_ enough, to stand in front of the world and be proud to be different.

She didn't have an answer for Quinn, but she did have a question of her own. "Would _you_ be ok with telling the world you're gay?"

Quinn shrugged. "I'm not big on labels but, yeah, I wouldn't hide my partner like she was something to be ashamed of. I don't want a relationship where I'll constantly be looking over my shoulder and sneaking in to places through back entrances. And I need to respect myself enough to not be someone else's dirty secret either."

Rachel sat there digesting her words. She honestly didn't know what to say. Again, it was Quinn who reached out and took her hand. "I'm not going to push you to do anything you don't want to do, Rach. But at the same time I need to protect myself. I've had a, well, a pretty crazy year already-"

"That's an understatement," Rachel muttered.

Quinn acknowledged the truth of her words with a tilt of the head. "And I don't want to make it any messier. I really enjoyed kissing you- God, I've wanted to kiss you for so long now... And I would love to do it again, but only if you and I are on the same page. If not, well, you're my friend, and you always will be. That won't change. And I promise I won't judge you if you decide a public relationship with a girl isn't for you. But I also can't fall for you any more than I already have knowing that we're on different wavelengths and that whatever we might have will come with an expiry date."

"How are you so rational about this?" Rachel asked. Her own mind was a whirl of confusion.

"I've had some time to think about it," Quinn shrugged with a soft smile. "I've had an insane crush on you for a few months now, and I suspected you might feel the same. I might have done some serious thinking in that time, with Guru Santana offering her counsel too."

Rachel wasn't surprised that Santana knew. A part of her wondered if Brittany knew too. "If you've liked me for so long, why did _you_ never approach _me_?"

"Because I got the impression you were figuring things out, and that's something a person needs to do on their own. I held onto the hope that you'd let your feelings be known when you knew exactly what they were," Quinn replied. "I did try and drop little hints though, in the hope that you read them right. And given that you kissed me tonight, I'd say a few of them hit home."

Rachel bobbed her head. It was true; Quinn was the one that initiated most of the physical contact between them, she had been the one to ask Rachel to accompany her to museums and galleries, she sent texts with flirtatious undercurrents.

"It seems to me like you aren't completely done figuring this, us, out though," Quinn said, not sounding the slightest bit angry. "And I won't rush you into making a decision. So take your time, and we'll talk when you're ready. Ok?"

Rachel nodded her head, and received a squeeze of the hand before Quinn let go and stood up. "Now how about we go inside and bid adieu to my mother and sister? After all, we only see them again tomorrow," the blonde said with a roll of her eyes. "How _ever_ will I survive that long?"

Rachel got to her feet and followed her fellow tennis player back inside the house. She felt drained from the roller coaster of emotions she'd just sat through. From the high of feeling Quinn's lips against her own to the uncertain state she was currently in, Rachel knew she had a lot to think about.

The question was, what was she going to do?


End file.
